Southern  Branch 
of  the 

University  of  California 

Los  Angeles 


Form  L 


OH 
61 


cob- 


This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below 


FEB  4      1935 


Form  L-9-15m-8,'24 


A   SONG   OF   LIFE 


SONG   OF   LIFE 


BY 


MARGARET  WARMER   MORLEY 


ILLUSTRATED    BY  THE    AUTHOR 
AND  ROBERT  FORSYTH 


CHICAGO 

A.   C.   McCLURG   AND   COMPANY 
1891 

4GSO 


COPYRIGHT 
BY  A.  C.  McCLURG  AND  Co. 

A.D.    1891 


OH 
M 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

FLOWERS 9 

FISHES 43 

FROGS 63 

BIRDS 71 

THE  END— AND  THE  BEGINNING    ....  87 

THE  WORLD'S  CRADLE 105 


A   SONG   OF   LIFE. 


FLOWERS. 

\A/E  all  love  flowers.    Most 

us  love  them  as  we  love  jewels"1 
and  sunshine  and  color ;  they  gratify1 
our  love  of  beauty  and  by  their  pres- 
ence   make    us    happier.      But    sorne^ 
have  a  deeper  reason  for  loyjf  ing   them ; 
to   ^mf       the  flowersJK     are     one 

Awhich 


io  A  Song  of  Life. 

another  expression.  They  do  not  think 
of  man  as  something  apart  by  himself, 
but  rather  as  a  part  of  the  universal 
life  which  the  plants  and  birds  and  all 
living  creatures  share  with  him.  Their 
eyes  and  hearts  are  open  to  the  sister  life 
in  the  world  about  them,  and  they  look  at 
the  flowers,  not  only  with  pleasure,  but 
with  the  love  which  recognizes  in  them  a 
sweet  though  simple  existence  like  our 
own.  Most  of  us  ignore  the  tie  which 
binds  us  to  the  plant  as  well  as  to  our 
human  brother.  In  this  respect  we  are 
like  him  of  whom  it  was  said, — 

"  A  primrose  by  the  river  brim 
A  yellow  primrose  was  to  him, 
And  it  was  nothing  more." 

And  yet  the  primrose  is  something  more 
than  a  bit  of  yellow  on  a  green  background  ; 
it  has  life,  and  in  many  important  respects 
life  in  the  plants  is  the  same  as  life  in  us. 
That  which  is  necessary  to  our  existence 


Flowers.  1 1 

is  also  necessary  to  theirs.  But  not  all  of 
us  have  stopped  to  think  about  this.  We 
pride  ourselves  upon  possessing  what  we 
call  the  breath  of  life.  We  consider  our- 
selves vastly  superior  to  the  humble  plant 
in  this  respect.  We  show  in  our  litera- 
ture, in  our  conversation,  and  in  many 
other  ways,  how  highly  we  esteem  our 
power  to  breathe.  But  the  plants  breathe 
too.  They  do  not  boast  about  it,  but 
they  do  it.  All  know  that  the  air  is 
composed  of  a  mixture  of  oxygen  and 
nitrogen  gases,  with  more  or  less  watery 
vapor  and  a  very  little  carbonic  acid  gas, 
and  that  oxygen  is  necessary  to  life,  while 
nitrogen,  which  forms  four  fifths  of  the 
atmosphere,  merely  serves  to  dilute  the 
oxygen. 

Animals  breathe  air  into  the  lungs,  the 
lung-cells  take  oxygen  from  it  and  throw 
back  into  it  carbonic  acid  gas,  which  is  an 
impurity.  Plants  use  air  in  the  same 
way,  but  as  their  lungs  consist  of  cells 


12 


A  Song  of  Life. 


which  cover  all  their  leaves,  the  plants 
breathe  over  the  whole  surface  of  their 
bodies.  As  the  air  bathes  them,  the  plant- 
cells,  eager  for  oxygen,  seize  upon  it  and 
compel  it  to  leave  the  air  and  join  them. 
From  them  it  is  transferred  to  the  other 
tissues  that  need  it,  and  the  carbonic  acid 
gas  set  free  by  the  chemical  work  going 
on  inside  the  plant,  finds  its  way,  by  the 
work  of  the  cells,  back  into  the  air 
as  an  impurity,  the  process  being 
the  same  as  when  we  breathe. 
But  we  too  breathe  over  the1 
whole  surface  of  our  bodies, 
cells  in  the  skin 
the  same 
power  of 


exchanging 

carbonic 

acid    gas   for 

oxygen  as  have 

the  cells  of  the- 
and  the  cells  of  the 
:X_  lungs.     But  since  the. 
lungs  are  specially  adapted 
for  exchanging  carbonic, 
acid  gas  for  oxygen, 
greater^  part  of  that  work 
is  done   by  them,  and  conse- 
quently we  think  of  the  lungs  as  the  only 
breathing  organs  until  somebody  reminds 
us  that  we   breathe  all  over  our   bodies, 
like  plants. 

And  plants  eat.  Not  such  gross  food 
as  we  take,  for  they  are  dainty  feeders 
upon  things  too  fine  for  us  even  to  taste. 
Down  in  the  ground  the  roots  creep  about 
among  the  rocks  and  soil,  and  drink  in 
the  moisture  and  the  gases  and  other 
mineral  elements  there,  and  this  food  they 


14  A  Song  of  Life. 

send  up  the  stem  in  spite  of  the  force 
of  gravity,  whose  business  it  is  to  pull 
everything  down.  Thus  are  fed  the  stems 
and  leaves  and  flowers,  for  as  the  fluid 
food  passes  along,  touching  every  part 
of  the  plant,  each  tissue  draws  to  itself 
the  material  it  needs  for  building  new 
tissue  or  rebuilding  that  which  is  worn 
out.  In  this  way  the  plant  grows.  But  the 
roots  do  not  supply  all  the  food,  for  the 
leaves  feed  too,  —  taking  in  nourishment 
over  their  whole  surface,  feeding  gen- 
erously wherever  air  and  light  touch 
them.  In  fact  {^ithe  leaves  absorb  food 
with  as  much 
breathe.  The 


ease  as  they 
roots    take 
food  from 


Flowers. 


the  soil;  the  leaves  take  it  from  the  air, 
for  the  plant  feeds  upon  the  elements 
which  make  up  the  air  and  the  earth, 
combining  them  in  various  ways,  and 
finally  converting  them  into  its  own  liv- 
ing substance.  In  this  way  it  grows  and 
becomes  food  for  animals. 

Its  power  to  change  mineral  matter  into 
living  substance  is  so  important  that  with- 
out it  there  could  be  no  life  on  earth.  The 
plant  is  the  chemical  laboratory  in  which 
is  prepared  the  food  of  the  world.  Take 
away  the  plant,  leaving  only  animal  life 
and  mineral  substances,  and  the  animal 
life  would  at  once  die.  Too  far  re- 
moved from  the  nature  of  the  mineral; 
it  could  not  come  into 


1 6  A  Song  of  Life. 

it,  — it  could  not  give  life  to  the  rock;  it 
could  not  transform  the  mineral's  cold 
matter  into  its  own  living  tissue ;  it  would 
starve  to  death.  Now  introduce  the  plant. 
Modest  yet  full  of  power,  it  stands  at  the 
border-land  of  life.  On  one  side  is  the 
lifeless  mineral,  on  the  other  the  helpless 
animal.  The  plant,  with  its  humble  life, 
reaches  down  to  the  mineral, —  touches  it 
with  a  living  touch;  and  the  mineral, 
otherwise  lifeless  forever,  responds  to  the 
touch  of  the  plant,  shares  its  life,  and 
becomes  a  part  of  it.  Thus  provided 
with  abundant  living  material,  the  plant 
yields  nutriment  to  the  life  above  it;  so 
that  every  animal,  including  man,  is  de- 
pendent upon  plant-life  for  its  existence. 
All  animals  feed  upon  the  plant;  remotely, 
it  may  be,  as  when  one  animal  feeds  upon 
another,  yet  ultimately,  the  plant  is  the 
source  whence  comes  the  material  for  the 
animal  form.  The  plant  exists  by  creating 
life ;  the  animal  by  destroying  it. 


Flowers.  1 7 

In  still  another  way  plant-life  renders 
animal-life  possible.  Plants  consume  car- 
bonic acid  gas  as  food.  They  take  it 
from  the  air  in  large  quantities,  and  thus 
clear  the  atmosphere  of  a  dangerous  ele- 
ment, for  a  small  amount  of  carbonic  acid 
gas  renders  air  unfit  for  animals  to  breathe. 
The  plants,  therefore,  live  upon  and  con- 
vert to  a  good  use  the  waste  of  breathing, 
which  might  otherwise  accumulate  in  suffi- 
cient quantities  to  be  dangerous  to  the 
higher  life.  But  this  is  not  all.  When 
carbonic  acid  gas  has  been  taken  as  food 
the  plant  tissues  use  the  carbon,  but  the 
oxygen,  which  forms  a  part  of  carbonic 
acid  gas,  they  reject  and  send  back  to  the 
air,  thus  giving  to  animals  the  oxygen, 
which  is  necessary  to  their  lives,  and  tak- 
ing away  the  carbonic  acid  gas,  which  is 
fatal  to  life. 

The  breathing  and  feeding  of  plants 
are  so  easily  confused  that  it  may  be  well 
to  insist  that  they  are  two  entirely  different 


1 8  A  Song  of  Life. 

functions.  Plants  breathe  out  carbonic 
acid  gas  and  take  in  oxygen  just  like  ani- 
mals; so  inasmuch  as  they  breathe  they 
render  the  air  impure.  They  eat  carbonic 
acid  gas  and  throw  off  oxygen  as  a  waste, 
so,  inasmuch  as  they  eat  they  purify  the 
air.  The  products  of  feeding  are  much 
greater  than  those  of  breathing,  very  much 
greater,  so  that  plants  are  powerful  puri- 
fiers of  the  air  and  keep  it  fit  for  animals 
to  breathe.  During  the  flowering  season, 
however,  the  plant  is  less  active  as  a  puri- 
fying means,  and  in  cases  where  there  is 
a  great  mass  of  bloom  may  even  belong 
to  the  destructive  forces,  vitiating  more 
air  than  it  purifies;  for,  the  flowers,  being 
so  fragile  and  perfect  and  not  obliged  to 
grow,  feed  little  and  breathe  much.  That 
is  why  some  people  consider  them  un- 
healthful  in  a  sick-room,  —  the  flowers 
breathe  the  air  which  the  patient  needs. 

Besides   breathing   and   feeding,    plants 
reproduce  themselves.    Like  higher  forms 


Flowers. 


of  life  they  issue  from  the  egg.     We 
call  the  plant's  egg  a  seed  and  so  lose 
sight  of  what  it  really  is;   but  recall  for  a 
moment  that  the  plant's  seed  kept  warm 
X  and    moist    produces    a    young    plant, 
V  jy  while   the   fish's  egg    kept    warm 
\,  and  moist    produces  a   young   fish, 
I  and    the    bird's    egg    kept 
warm     and    dry    produces 
.  a   young   bird,   and 
the    true    nature    of 
the  seed   is  apparent, 
-it    is    the    egg    of    the 
plant. 

"  Everything   springs  from   the 
egg;   it  is  the  world's  cradle." 
That    is    the    way   the    wise   an- 
cients told  the  secret  of  how  life 
begins.     But  they  told  only  half 
the  truth  when  they  said  nothing 
/of  the  vital  spark  which  kindles  the 
igg  to  growth  and  adds  to  it  a  new 
'range    of    possibilities.     Like   them,    we 


20 


A  Song  of  Life. 


commonly  fail  of  due  reverence  for  pater- 
nal life,  and  attribute  the  miracle  of  regen- 
eration wholly  to  the  power  in  the  egg. 
Walking  through  the  fields  in  the  autumn, 
we  wade  waist-high  through  a  patch  of 
golden-rod.  As  we  jostle  the  stately 
plumes,  out  pours  a  cloud  of  fine  yellow 
powder  which  settles  upon  our  clothes 
like  dust.  We  carelessly  brush  it  off  and 
pass  on,  not  giving  it  another  thought. 
We  look  into  the  heart  of  the  rose  and 
see  there  golden  grains  which  tell 
,us  nothing;  we  watch  the  alder  cat- 
-Vkins  soften  and  tremble  and 
powder  the  air  with  a  great 
shower  of  ^gold-dust 
and  still 


Flowers. 


2  I 


no  question;  we  see  the  white  temple  of 
the  Easter  lily  marred  by  the  copious  yellow 
dust  which  falls  from  its  anthers;  we  are 
powdered  by  the  evening  primrose.  In 
fact,  in  nearly  every  flower  we  know,  we 
find  the  pollen-powder,  the  dust  of  the 
flowers.  And  we  are  indifferent  to  it, 
seeing  it  all  our  lives,  until  one  day  we 
ask  what  it  is  and  discover  to  our  wonder 
that  it  has  much  to  do  with  the  life  of 
the  plant,  and  that  the  seeds  which  are  hid- 
den in  the  hearts  of  the  flowers  owe  their 
development  to  it.  There  are 
things  in  the  life  of  the 
plant  worth  knowing,  but 
of  all  the  wonderful  facts 
of  plant-life  which  man 
has  discovered,  nothing  is 
stranger  or  more 
beautiful  than 
what  is  known 
of  the  dust,  or 
pollen,  of  the  plant, 
and  of  its  ovules,  or  seeds. 


22  A  Song  of  Life. 

Even  though  every  one  may  know  the 
truth  concerning  the  pollen  and  the  ovules, 
their  story,  like  all  the  best  stories  in  the 
world,  will  bear  telling  a  great  many  times ; 
and  this  time  it  is  one  link  in  a  chain  of 
great  meaning  which  begins  in  the  plant 
and  passes  through  all  other  life,  until 
it  ends  in  man,  binding  all  life  to- 
gether in  close  bonds  of  relationship. 
But  before  going  so  deeply  into  the 
secrets  of  plant-life  as  the  story  of  the 
pollen  would  lead  us,  we  shall  have  to 
consider  a  number  of  facts,  just  as  one  is 
obliged  to  cut  through  a  mass  of  fibre 
to  reach  the  kernel  of  the  cocoanut.  The 
first  fact  shall  be  a  seed.  We  will  examine 
one  to  set  us  thinking. 

From  the  morning-glory  vine  we  pluck 
a  ripe,  brown  seed-vessel.  Carefully  open- 
ing it  we  find  three  little  silky  nests,  in 
each  of  which  are  two  seeds.  Very  deli- 
cately removing  the  outer  skin  from  one 
of  these  seeds  we  find  inside  a  green 


Flowers.  23 

core  covered  with  a  clear,  jelly-like  sub- 
stance. (If  the  seed  is  hard  and  dry,  it 
should  be  soaked  in  warm  water  for  a  few 
minutes  before  examination.)  We  next 
remove  all  of  the  outer  covering  and 
the  jelly-like  substance  and  spread  out 
the  green  core.  It  seems  to  be  a  tiny 
leaf.  Examined  more  carefully  it  proves 
to  be  two  leaves  lying  close  together  and 
having  at  the  point  of  union  a  tiny 
bud-like  root.  In  fact  there  is  a  whole 
plant  thus  skilfully  packed  away  in  the  little 
hard  seed.  Plant  the  seed,  and  the  young 
morning-glory  will  issue  forth.  The  first 
leaves  that  appear  above  the  ground  are 
different  from  the  later,  heart-shaped 
leaves ;  they  are  the  two  blunt  little 
absurdities  we  found  in  the  seed,  and  t 
push  up  to  the  light  while  the  root  pushes 
down  into  the  soil.  The  next  leaf,  how- 
ever, is  heart-shaped,  and  bears  no  - 
resemblance  to  the  seed-leaves,  whose  duty 
it  was  to  be  as  compact  and  sturdy  as 


24  A  Song  of  Life. 

possible  in  order  to  start  the  plant.     Being 
now  fairly  started,  the  plant  grows  rapidly 
until  it  is  a  full-sized  vine  and  bears  flow- 
ers.   Thus  it  would  seem  that  in  some  way 
the  tiny  seed  held  the  idea  of  the  perfected 
plant  within  its  walls.    Open  a  bean  pod 
and  find  the  seeds  there,  each  in  a  soft, 
white  nest. 

Take  one  of  the  beans  and  let  it 
be  the  seed  we  next  examine,  for  we 
are  in  no  hurry  and  may  as  well  be- 
x  come  acquainted  with  seeds  while 
^\we  are  in  the  mood  for  it.    Again 
removing   the  outer  skin,  which  in 
this  case  is  leathery  and  white,  we 
find    no    jelly-like    substance.      The  bean 
^seerns  split  into  two  fleshy  parts,  and 
at  their  point  of  union  is  a  tiny  sprout 
consisting  of  two  leaves  folded  close 
'together.    Plant  the  bean  and  the  sprout 
grows.     The  two  little  yellow  atoms  of 
leaves  become  large  and  green,  and  a  root 
strikes  down  into  the  ground.    After  a  time 


Flowers. 


F     ]/  the  two  fleshy  parts  turn  green ; 
"^we  find  they 
\  are  veined,  and  in  fact  are 
the  seed-leaves,  which  were  packed 
full    of    starch    to 

^_  f     start    the    young 

Ti    l/r*  L  y/^^^  plant.   They  are  larger  and 
T  fatter  than  the  morning- 
glory    seed-leaves,    because    there 
is  no    jelly-like  food    packed  about 
the  young  bean  plant,  and   it  must 
f    feed  upon  the  starch  in  its  seed-leaves 
until   it  is  strong   enough 
^       to  draw  nourishment  from  the 
earth.      Opening    a    peanut 
ancLexamining  the  meat,  we  find  it 
a  seed.     The  part  we  eat  is  the 
seed-leaves,  stored   with  food 
with  which  the  plant  may  start 
on   its  career.      At  the  point  of 
^  union    of    the    seed-leaves,    the 
young    little    plant    may   be   plainly 


Looking  into  a  squash  seed 


Y  * 


•) 

-' y  we    find    the 

young  plant   stored 
away    there,    root,   leaves, 
and    all.      Looking    into  any 
seed    we    see    the    young    , 
waiting    for     the    right 
conditions  of    warmth   and   moisture 
r  to  wake  up  and  grow  intc 
a  plant  like  its  parent. 
'Each   plant    puts   itself,  as  i 
'were,  into  its  seed.    Forth  from 
the   poppy   seed   springs    the 
poppy,  forth  from  the  pea  seed 
springs   the    pea,   and    forth    from 
the  morning-glory  seed  springs  the 
morning-glory,  —  never  any  mistake 
or  any  springing  of  a  poppy  from 
a  water-melon  seed  or  a  water-mel 
vine  from  a  lily  seed.    And  yet  the  seed 
of  a  white   morning-glory  may  bear 
a    purple    blossom,    and    the 


Flowers.  2 1 

seed  of  a  red  verbena  may  bear  red-and- 
white  blossoms.  If  we  grow  white  flowers 
and  red  flowers  of  the  same  species  to- 
gether, their  seed  will  be  apt  to  give  us 
/YNred-and-white  flowers.  Our  petunia  seed 
°)  will  not  "  come  true "  if  two  or 
^)more  colors  are  grown  to- 
gether, but  the  seeds  of  the  white 
petunias  will  yield  purple  and  white 
flowers,  or  red  and  white  ones.  The 
flowers  will  in  fact  be  apt  to  be  striped 
or  spotted  by  the  colors  of  all  the  petu- 
nias in  the  garden.  Flowers  seem  to 
have  some  strange  influence  over  each 
other  which  causes  their  seed  to  inherit 
the  peculiarities  of  neighboring  plants  of 
the  same  species.  In  order  to  understand 
this  strange  habit  we  will  pass  from  the 
seed,  which  has  thought-matter  enough  to 
to  last  us  a  lifetime,  and  will  question 
the  pollen.  But  first  we  shall  be  obliged 
carefully  to  examine  a  flower.  The  morn- 
ing-glory blossom  will  answer  the  pur- 
pose very  well.  Its  most  showy  part,  the 


28 


A  Song  of  Life. 


bright-colored  bell,  or  corolla,  as  it  is 
technically  called,  surrounds  delicate  inner 
organs.  The  first  set  of  these  organs 
grows  fast  to  the  bottom  of  the  corolla, 
and  when  the  corolla  is  pulled 
N  away  they  come  too.  They  are 
the  stamens,  and  have  a  delicate 
white  filament,  or  stem,  with  a 
powder  box,  or  anther,  at  the 
top.  Each  anther  has  two  cells, 
and  these  cells  hold  the  pollen.  When 
the  anther  is  ripe  the  cells  split  open 
«n  and  let  the  pollen  fall  out.  The  pollen 
/being  the  essential  part  of  the  stamen, 
•'the  stamens  of  some  kinds  of  flowers 
have  no  filaments.  The  pollen  every 
flower  must  have  if  the  plant  is  to  bear 
seed,  but  that  is  the  only  part  of  the 
stamen  that  is  absolutely  necessary. 

When  corolla  and  stamens  were  pulled 
away  from  the  morning-glory,  but  a  seem- 
ingly unimportant  part  of  the  flower  was 
left.  This  central  column,  however,  is 


Flowers.  29 

of  the  greatest  value,  for  it  is  the  pistil, 
and  at  the  base  of  the  pistil,  in  its  thick, 
round  bottom,  is  the  seed-case,  or  ovary. 
A  slender  white  column,  the  styk,  rises 
from  the  ovary  and  is  topped  with  a 
round,  ball-like  stigma.  The  ovary 
and  stigma  are  the  necessary  parts  of 
the  pistil,  the  style  is  only  a  passage- 
way from  one  to  the  other,  and 
some  flowers  have  no  styles.  Ovary 
and  stigma  every  flower  must  have 
if  it  is  to  bear  seed.  If  the  morn- 
ing-glory ovary  be  cut  across,  six 
little  seed-like  bodies  are  seen  em- 
bedded there.  These  are  the  ovules,  and 
would  one  day  have  been  the  seeds  if 
the  pollen  had  done  its  duty  and  the 
flower  had  not  been  disturbed.  But  the 
ovule  is  not  the  seed.  No  ovule  alone 
could  become  a  seed.  It  would  seem 
as  though  the  plant  were  not  content  with 
what  its  one  life  could  give,  as  though  it 
longed  to  reach  out  and  touch  other  life 


A  Song  of  Life. 

'  and  have  the  power  in  that  other 
life  added  to  what  it 
could  give  its  seed- 
children;  and  so  its 
ovules  were  not  granted 
life  enough  to  unfold  alone,  but  lay 
passive  until  aroused  by  the  magic  touch 
of  other  life. 

This  other  life  is  the  pollen.     When 
the  pistil  —  which  we  may  consider  the 
,  mother-part  of  the  plant,  because  it 
cherishes  the  seed-children,  or  ovules 
—  is  ripe,  the  stigma  is  moist  and  sticky. 
The  grains  of  pollen  from  the  stamen, 
which   we    may  with    justice    consider 
father-part  of  the  plant,  fall  against 
)  the   stigma;    or    the   pollen  from 
J  neighboring  plants  is  rubbed  against 
it  by  bees  and  other  insects  going 
from   flower   to   flower,   or  is   blown 
against  it  by  the  wind.     When  the 
tiny  pollen-grain    touches   the    sticky 


Flowers. 


stigma  it  is  held  fast.  The  pollen-grain, 
which  in  most  kinds  of  plants  is  so  small 
that  to  see  its  shape  one  needs  a  micro- 
scope, is  nevertheless  a  sac  tilled  with  oil 
and  other  substances,  and  containing  two 
or  more  very  small  living  bodies.  In  these 
living  bodies,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  is 
the  life  the  ovule  must  add  to  its  own 
before  it  can  become  a  seed.  In  these 
microscopic  atoms,  too,  is  contained  the 
whole  idea  of  the  plant  that  bore  / 
the  stamen.  The  idea  of  the 
father-plant  is  there,  even  to  the 
color  of  the  flowers  and  their 
odor;  but  the  power  to  live  and 

develop  unaided  into  a  plant   is 
)  not  in  the  pollen.     The  two  lives, 
that  of  the  pollen  and 
'^that  of  the  ovule,  must 
x  unite  before   either 
can  fulfil  its  destinv. 


But  the  pollen-grain 
is  too  large  to  pass 


32  A  Song  of  Life. 

through  the  stigma  and  work  its  way 
down  through  the  loose  tissue  of  the  style 
to  the  ovary.  Contact  with  the  moist 
stigma  has,  however,  caused  it  to  swell, 
and  soon  one  part  of  it  is  seen  dipping 
down  into  the  stigma  like  the  finger  of  a 
glove.  This  part  continues  to  lengthen, 
forming  a  long  tube  which  finds  its  way 
down  through  the  style  to  the  ovary.  The 
living  essential  atoms  in  the  pollen-grain 
down  the  lengthening  tube,  and 
when  the  little  tube  finally  enters 

v  jr**  J 

//the  ovary  the  little  living  bodies  break 
through  the  delicate  wall  of  the  tube  and 
enter  the  ovule.  One  can  see  in  the  cut 
how  it  is  done  in  the  pistil  of  the 
buckwheat,  which  has  three  stigmas. 
In  other  flowers  the  process  is  essen- 
tially the  same.  As  soon  as  the  pollen 
atom  has  joined,  or  to  speak  scientifi- 
cally, fertilized,  the  ovule,  a  change  takes 
place.  The  ovule  enlarges  and  has  formed 
within  it  the  tiny  plant  we  see  in  the 


Flowers.  33 

seed.  The  ovule,  in  some  wonderful  way, 
contains  within  its  tiny  walls  the  whole 
idea  of  the  mother-plant.  Through  it  can 
be  transmitted  any  or  every  peculiarity  of 
the  mother,  if  the  pollen  touches  it  to  life. 
But  the  pollen  can  also  transmit  any 
peculiarity  of  the  father-plant  if  the  ovule 
touches  it  to  life.  The  red  verbena  has 
the  red  ideal  in  its  ovule  and  in  its  pollen. 
The  white  one  has  the  white  ideal.  If  a 
bee,  in  passing  from  the  red  to  the  white 
flower,  should  bear  grains  of  pollen  from 
one  to  the  other,  the  stigma  of  the  white 
flower  would  eagerly  receive  the  pollen  of 
the  red ;  and  thus  the  seed  so  produced 
would  be  rich  in  color-life,  and  might 
bear  a  flower  either  red  or  white  or  both 
red  and  white. 

The  power  of  life  seems  stronger  where 
new  elements  join ;  and  for  this  reason 
fertilization  from  another  plant,  or  as  the 
botanists  say,  cross-fertilization,  as  a  rule 
produces  stronger  plants  than  self-fertiliza- 


34 


A  Song  of  Life. 


tion;  and  so  keenly  is  this  cross-fertili- 
zation desired  by  the  flowers  that  they 
have  evolved  many  curious  devices  to 
bring  it  about.  For  instance, 
plant  called  "Dame  Rocket" 
"ripens  the  pistils  and  stamens  of 
the  same  flower  at  different  times, 
the  pistil  is  ripe  the  anthers  A 

are  still  closed,  so  that 
(the  pistil  must  be  fertil- 
ized by.  pollen  brought  by 
insects  from^l  another  flower  whose  an- 
thers ^r&lare  ripe.  When  the  an- 
thers are  ripe  and  let  out 
the  pollen,  the  pistil 
in  that  flower  is  past 
its  stage  of  activity  and 
'no  pollen  can  affect  it. 
Every  one  knows  of  the 
ingenious  contrivance  of  the 
orchids  to  prevent  self-fertilization.  They 
have  but  two  stamens,  and  their  pollen- 
grains  are  fastened  together  by  threads 


Flowers.  35 

like  fine  spider-web,  so  that  the  whole 
mass  of  pollen  keeps  together.  The  sta- 
mens are  so  placed  that  the  pollen  cannot 
fall  upon  its  own  stigma,  but  the  honey 
sac  is  so  situated  that  when  Sir  Moth 
puts  his  head  into  Madame  Orchid's  honey 
pot  he  touches  the  sticky  pollen  masses 
and  bears  them  away,  one  attached  to 
each  eye.  Being  fond  of  Orchid  honey 
he  hurries  off  to  call  on  another  flower, 
for  where  one  grows  more  are  not  far  off, 
and  as  he  finds  his  way  to  the  nectar  sac 
the  pollen  on  his  eye  touches  the  sticky 
stigma  and  is  left  there,  while  he  gets  a 
new  supply  to  take  to  the  next  flower. 
Thus  he  becomes  the  bearer  of  new  life, 
and  peoples  the  woods  with  future  orchids. 
The  pumpkin  has  settled  the  manner  of 
fertilization  most  emphatically.  All  of  the 
stamens  are  banished  from  the  blossom 
that  bears  the  pistil,  and  no  pistil  is  found 
in  the  one  that  holds  the  stamens.  The 
pumpkin  will  be  cross-fertilized  or  not  at 


36  A  Song  of  Life. 

all.  The  begonia  is  sometimes  still  more 
exacting,  and  has  all  the  flowers  upon  one 
plant  staminate  flowers  — that  is,  flowers 
bearing  only  stamens  — and  all  upon  an- 
other plant  pistillate  flowers. 

Some  nut  trees  have  the  same  habit,  and 
this  is  why  one  tree  will  always  have  nuts 
and  a  companion  tree  never.  Cut  down 
the  apparently  useless  tree  and  there  will 
be  no  nuts  on  its  neighbor,  for  half  the 
life  of  the  nuts  came  from  the  nutless  tree. 
Maples  and  elms  have  the  stamens  and 
pistils  in  separate  flowers.  The  anthers 
hang  out  on  long  thread-like  filaments, 
dressing  the  tree  in  dainty  fringe,  and 
pollen  is  scattered  in  light  abundance  on 
the  wind,  which  blows  it  from  flower 
to  flower. 

The  pine-tree  pours  such  a  wealth  of 
pollen  into  the  air  in  trust  for  its  cones, 
where  the  seeds  lie,  that.it  is  carried  for 
miles  and  forms  a  yellow  scum  on  the 
neighboring  ponds.  The  grasses  dust  the 


Flowers. 


37 


air  with  every  breeze  that  blows.  Wher- 
ever the  wind  is  to  act  the  part  of  priest 
in  the  marriage  of  the  flowers  ^  the 
amount  of  pollen  is  almost  in- 
credible. The  bees  are 
better  guardians  of 
the  plant-life.  Indeed 
bees  are  the  best 
flowers 


apple 


Many 
orchard 


owes 
its  bur- 
de  n     of 
unless 


fruit  to  them. 
the  P°^ 

in  the  apple-  blossom    there 

will  be  nol  topple,  and  the  wind 
is  a  fickle  helper.  The  clover  keeps  its 
pollen  stored  away  where  the  wind  can- 
not reach  it,  and  relies  upon  the  bumble- 
bee to  convey  it  from  flower  to  flower. 
Unless  a  flower  is  fertilized,  it  will  wither 
and  fall  and  leave  no  trace  of  its  existence. 
The  ovule  has  seldom  power  to  become  a 


A  Song  of  Life. 


seed  unaided  by  the  pollen,  and  it  is  for 
the  sake  of  the  seed  that  the  fruit  forms, 
so  we  owe  our  apples  and  peaches  and 
other  fruits  to  the  pollen,  as  well  as  to 
the  ovary. 
The  essential  organs,  stamens  and  pis- 


so     wonderful 


in 

struct- 
ure and 
beautiful 

form,  and  are  the  authors  of 
many  ingenious  contrivances  to 
insure  fertilization  and  the  scattering  of 
seed,  that  one  cannot  look  intelligently 
into  the  commonest  flower  without  being 
filled  with  admiration.  The  thistle  is 
a  revelation  and  the  burdock  a  psalm. 
The  ovary  of  the  orange  is  a  globe  of 
nectar;  and  the  cherry  ovary,  fortunately 
for  the  birds  and  us,  is  a  rich,  juicy 


Flowers. 


39 


pulp.  The  ovaries  of  the  strawberry  are 
perched  upon  a  pyramid  which  is  deli- 
cious -^Xx  m  flavor  anc*  delightful  in 
grance.  The  fruit  of  the  dan- 
delion flies  away  on  wings 
of  down.  The  stamens 
of  the  blue  flag  are  hidden 
\away,  and  the  anthers 

^ 'wintergreen  open   by  a 

single  f  !' little  pore  in  the  top  of  each 
"cell.  The  mountain  laurel  has  a  romance 
well  worth  the  reading. 

The  pollen-grains,  often  so  small  that  to 
see  them  requires  a  microscope,  are  of 
strange  and  beautiful  forms.  The  musk- 
plant  has  them  ^^\  spherical  and  beau- 
tifully grooved. ^J^  In  the  star-cucum- 
ber they  are  again  spherical  but  markedjn 
a  peculiar  manner  which  makes  them 
different  from  all  other  pollen-grains. 
In  the  hibiscus  we  ^V^  m1^  again  spher- 
ical pollen-grains,  I^Vci  but  covered 
with  little  points.  ^Sp^  In  the  mountain 


4o 


A  Song  of  Life. 


laurel  they  are  likej**  several  spheres 
fastened  together.  A^i  1"  the  even ,/\ing 
primrose  they  are<|^three-sided.^"lln 
the  milk-weed  they  are  attached  ^J^o 
to  each  other  jf)  in  masses,  like  those 
of  the  orchid,  ^/N  and  form  two  pear- 
shaped  bodies.  A  m.  And  yet,  though  each 
grain  of  pollen^  ^is  full  of  dormant  life, 
its  life  responds  only  to  a  life  akin  to  its 
own.  The  pollen  of  a  hawthorn  blossom, 
active  at  once  in  the  ovule  of  any  other 
hawthorn,  is  powerless  upon  the  stigma  of 
a  stranger  plant.  It  cannot  fertilize  a  lily, 
it  cannot  fertilize  a  sweet-pea.  It  can 
continue  to  live  only  when  in  union  with 
its  own  kind;  so  though  the  verbenas 
will  exchange  colors  with  each  other  and 
be  all  the  better  for  it,  they  ^j&j&tf  will 
not  be  modified  by  anv  other^EF  kind 
of  flower. 

As  soon 

_  the 


Flowers. 


and   the  ovules  they  naturally  made   use 
of   their   knowledge  to   produce   modified 
•*'  forms   which    should    gratify   their    tastes 
in  *  various  ways.     And  thus  were  origi- 
r- '   nated    many   rare    flowers    and    fine 
varieties    of    berries,    grapes,    and    other 
fruits.    Plant-life,  like  all  other  life,  is 
mysterious;    and    the    results  of    the 
union    of    any   two   plants   cannot    be 
foretold.      The    gardener    having 
one   variety   of   grape,   fine 
in  size  and  color  but  lack- 
ing in  flavor,  may  fer- 
tilize   its    flowers    with 
pollen  from  another  va- 
riety, fine  in  flavor  but 
lacking  in  color  and  size. 
When    the    vine    raised 
from  the  new  seed  bears  fruit,  the  fruit 
may  chance  to  combine  the  good  qualities 
of  both  parents,  or  it  'may  be  so  unfor- 
tunate as  to  have  inherited  the  bad  quali- 
ties of  both.     Man,  with  all  his  pride  of 


42 


A  Song  of  Life. 


knowledge,  cannot  control  or  even  in- 
fallibly foresee  the  action  of  life  in  that 
other  life,  akin  to  but  different  from  his, 
x  the  plant-life. 


FISHES. 


IN  the  water  as  upon  the  land, 
life  is  abundant.  The  things  that 
live  in  the  sea  consider  it  but  air  diluted 
to  suit  their  delicate  organs;  for  the  life 
in  them  is  governed  by  the  same  laws 
that  govern  life  out  of  the  water.  The 
land  animal  and  land  plant  breathe  oxygen 
diluted  with  nitrogen.  Pure  oxygen  would 
intoxicate,  consume  them,  burn  them  up, 
as  effectually  as  if  they  had  fallen  into 
a  raging  furnace.  Pure  air  would  intoxi- 
cate, consume  the  creatures  of  the  sea ; 
their  oxygen  must  be  diluted  with  nitro- 
gen, and  their  air  with  water.  But  air,  in 
small  quantities,  they  must  have  or  die; 


44  A  Song  of  Life. 

and  there  is  air  in  the  water  which  the 
sea  things  breathe.    The 


storm  is  * 

the   angel   who 

stirs  their  pool  and  brings 

life  to  the  inhabitants  of  - 

the  deep.  The  storms  T 

and  the  tides  - 


water,    aerating 
-  them  and  keeping 
-~them  fresh  and  life- 
-  giving.    Otherwise  the 
—  -  -oceans  would  be 


stag-  " 

nant  masses  ot 

death  and  decay  which  would  speedily  put 


Fishes.  45 

an  end  to  all  the  higher  forms  of  life  that 
now  exist.  But  under  the  storm-purified 
waves  there  is  carried  on  a  life  varied  and 
wonderful.  One  who  loves  this  water-life 
has  thus  told  about  his  friends :  — 

"  For  warriors,  lo !  we  have  the  fish 
known  as  the  goby,  who  turns  quite  black 
with  rage  when  he  beholds  his  prey,  and 
whose  turquoise-colored  eyes  light  up  with 
fury  as  he  dashes  to  the  fierce  encounter. 
We  have,  too,  the  graceful  stickleback,  who 
makes  his  nest  like  a  bird,  waits  upon  his 
mistress  with  all  the  gentle  complaisance 
of  the  knight-errant  of  old,  and  enters  the 
lists  in  his  uniform  of  glowing  scarlet 
trimmed  with  white  and  green,  or  deep, 
deep  purple,  to  do  battle  for  the  object 
of  his  affections.  The  stickleback  adores 
the  tournament.  In  the  heat  of  the  con- 
flict his  gorgeous  colors  flash  out  in- 
tensely in  their  brilliance.  Defeated,  his 
war-paint  fades  into  the  dullest  hues,  or 
only  flickers  changefully  up  in  his  dying 


4  6  A  Song  of  Life. 

throes,  as  if  in  death  he  had  a  dream  of 
victory. 

"  For  ogres,  we  have  the  actiniae,  who, 
garbed  in  the  seductive  costume  of  the 
gayest  flowers,  lie  in  wait  for  thoughtless 
victims.  Their  delicate  petals  are  a  thou- 
sand murderous  arms,  prepared  to  grasp  all 
of  annelid  life  that  may  be  tempted  to  em- 
brace them,  while  every  pretty  crimson  dot 
conceals  a  poisoned  barb,  which  they  pro- 
ject unerringly  as  death  at  passing  infusoria. 

"  For  sentimental  performers,  we  have  the 
sea  cucumber  and  the  starfish.  Some 
of  the  former,  when  irritated,  deliberately 
commit  suicide  by  expectorating  the  whole 
of  their  intestines,  leaving  their  empty 
shells  behind.  Some  of  the  latter,  un- 
der like  circumstances,  suddenly  ex- 
plode themselves  into  fragments,  as 
though  filled  with  gunpowder,  and 
touched  off  by  electricity. 


Fishes.  47 

For  beauties,  we  have  the  sea  mouse, 
clothed  in  silken  hair,  and  glittering  in  all 
the  iridescent  colors  of  the  butterfly;  we 
have  the  sea  slug,  covered  with  gem-like 
specks  that  may  well  pass  muster  for 
sapphires  and  emeralds ;  we  have  the  min- 
now, the  dandy  of  his  tribe,  with  his  vest 
of  roses  and  his  coat  of  olive  green. 

"  For  Jeremy  Diddlers,  we  have  the 
hermit  crab,  who  pilfers  a  whelp  shell  for 
his  residence;  we  have  the  nereis,  who 
attaches  himself,  perdu,  to  the  crab's  door- 
way, and  gourmandizes  on  all  the  food  he 
can  seize  as  it  enters;  and  we  have  the 
cloak  anemone,  which  insidiously  mantles 
the  two,  and  then  devours  all  it  can  ab- 
stract from  the  mouths  of  both.  To  this 
category  we  might  add  the  phyllodoce, 
who  turn  themselves  inside  out  like  a 
stocking,  and  when  the  inverted  stomachs 
fill  with  passing  pabulum,  restore  the 
sated  organs  to  their  original  position. 

"The  comic  actors  on  this  stage  of  life 


48 


A  Song  of  Life. 


are  too  multitudinous  for  detail.  The 
climbing  frog  and  climbing  crab  are  gym- 
nasts of  the  first  order;  the 
rednose  carries  a  natural 

syringe,  with  which   he 

squirts  water  upon  all  who  incon- 
venience him;  the  caddis  worm 
sports  a  portable  domicile  of  sticks 
and  stones;  the  newt  is  alive  with 
graceful  evolutions,  full  of  merry  twists 
and  laughable  eccentricities." 

Those   who    have   visited    the 
fish    at    home  —  that    is    to   say, 
have  stood  before  the  glass  tanks 
of  a  sea  aquarium  and  watched  their 
every-day    life  —  will    gladly   place 
them  close  to  the  flowers  in  thought 
and  affection. 
There  goes  a  rounded, 
quis   ^        itely  curved 


e 


Fishes. 


49 


smaller  than  the  palm  of  your  hand  and 
colored  like  mother-of-pearl.  Suspended 
in  the  pure  sea-water,  he  is  worthy  a  place 
among  Neptune's  crown  jewels;  and  when 
he  moves  words  cannot  be  found  to  de- 
scribe the  beauty  of  his  undulations.  Near 
him  is  an  Oriental  aristocrat,  brilliant  as  an 
ocean  sunset,  and  with  long,  soft,  float- 
ing fins  and  tail  like  the  drapery  of  an 
Egyptian  princess.  The  flowers  are  not 
more  brilliant  in  color  or  more  varied  in 
form  than  are  the  fish  in  the  various 
tanks. 

Many,  however,  are  more  curious  than 
beautiful,  and  odder  forms  than  have  come 
out  of  the  sea  to  finish  their  lives  in  the 
aquarium  never  passed  through  an^opium- 
^eater's  dream. 

^h-/®>il5S[ 

^^a^         "You  strange,  astonished-looking, 

angle -faced, 

Dreary-mouthed,  gaping  wretches 
of  the  sea !  " 


says  Leigh  Hunt. 


50  A  Song  of  Life. 

But  the  sea,  the  splendid,  invigorating 
salt  sea,  does  not  hold  all  the  fishes.  They 
have  gone  up  the  streams  into  the  land, 
and  have  peopled  the  lakes  and  ponds, 
wherever  the  conditions  for  fish-life  were 
favorable.  Every  one  has  known,  as  a 
child,  the  minnows  in  the  brooks,  flashes 
of  silver  easy  to  catch ;  and  also  that  bit 
of  brightness  in  the  ponds,  rightly  named 
the  sunfish.  The  catfish,  too,  homely  and 
ugly  to  deal  with,  because  of  his  "  horns," 
has  made  a  lasting  impression  upon  most 
country  boys  and  girls. 

Strange  as  the  cold,  unlifelike  life  of 
the  fishes  may  seem  to  our  different  way 
of  looking  at  life,  they  are  true  animals; 
and  unlike  the  flowers,  which  are  able 
to  exist  upon  air  and  earth,  demand  for 

their  A   /V  nourishment    food    which    is 

\  i  / 
the  ^\U  result   of    some   other   life.     In 

fact,  their  appetite  for  living 
food  is  something  to  be 
regarded  with  amazement 


Fishes.  5 1 

and    consternation    by   creatures    like 
8-j  ourselves,  unable  to    look  at  can- 
®\  ,'  nibalism  and  the  eating  of  live 
K  victims  from   the  fish's   point 
of  view. 

They  do  not  absorb  nutriment  over 
the  whole  surface  of  the  body,  as  is  the 
dainty  habit  of  the  flowers,  but  have  a 
distinct  receptacle  for  their  struggling 
meals,  which  they  pursue  and  capture  and 
consign  to  a  laboratory  which  quickly  re- 
duces them  to  an  elementarv  form  of 
animal  substance;  for  in  the  stomach  of 
the  fish  its  food  is  saturated  with  diges- 
tive fluids  which  change  it  into  a  liquid 
material  which  can  be  dissolved  and  ab- 
sorbed into  the  blood.  The  blood, 
ries  the  new  material  to  all  parts  : 
the  body,  and  each  tissue,  as  this 
liquid  food  hurries  along, 
takes  from  it  the  materials 
it  needs  to  build  or  rebuild  ;sj 
so  ultimately  the  fish  disposes 


j- 


\\ 


52  A  Song  of  Life. 

of  its  food  in  the  same  way  that  the  plant 
does,  only  the  plant-food,  being  already  in 
a  soluble  state,  does  not  need  the  services 
of  a  stomach. 

The  breathing  of  the  fish,  too,  is  the 
same  as  that  of  the  plant,  except  in  the 
smaller  amount  of  surface   which  in 
the  fish  serves  the  purpose  of 
lungs.     No  doubt  the  fish       ^^^_ 
takes  in  oxygen  and  casts  out  ^ 
carbonic  acid  gas  over  the  whole 
surface  of  its  body,  as  does  the 
plant ;  but  in  the  fish  certain  cells 
are  much  more  active  in  that  re- 
spect than  are  any  others ;  and  these  cells 
are   situated   in  the  gills,  where  the  air- 
laden  water  constantly  bathes  them.    The 
oxygen  in  the  air  is  seized  by  these  gill- 
cells,  and  passed  along  to  the  tissue  that 
needs    it,   while   the    carbonic    acid    gas, 
which  has  been  formed  by  the  chemical 
changes  going  on  in  the  animal,  is  sent 
by  the  gill-cells  out  into  the  water. 


Fishes.  53 

Interesting  as  pulling  fish  out  of  the 
water,  with  a  hook  in  their  gills  and  death 
in  their  hearts,  is  found  to  be  by  some,  it 
is  nothing  compared  to  the  delight  of 
watching  them  at  home,  full  of  life,  - 
familiar  yet  strange  life,  —  doing  the  every- 
day acts  of  feeding  and  breathing  that 
we  do,  and  moving  with  an  inexpres- 
sible charm,  akin  to  that  of  flying 
through  the  cool  waters. 

"The  fish  is  swift,  small-needing, 
vague  yet  clear, — 

A  cold,  sweet,  silver  life,  wrapped 
in  round  waves, 

Quickened  with  touches  of  trans- 
porting fear," 

says  Leigh  Hunt,  doing  exquisite  justice 
to  his  now  dainty  subject. 

And  life  is  in  the  fish.  Life,  whatever 
that  is,  resides  in  these  creatures,  which 
are  more  like  animated  crystals  than  things 
of  flesh  and  blood.  And  life  in  them  re- 
news itself  as  it  does  in  the  flower. 


54 


A  Song  of  Life. 


In  the  Wisconsin  lakes  live  numbers  of 
black  bass.  They  are  not  so  handsome  as 
the  scup  or  the  golden  perch,  but  are  easy 
to  watch,  and  are  full  of  affection  for  their 
offspring.  Early  in  the  spring,  inside  the 
female  bass,  as  at  the  right  season  is  true 
of  all  female  fish,  there  lay  two  long,  broad 
bags  of  tiny  eggs,  one  in  each  side  of  the 
body.  During  the  winter,  both  eggs  and 
bags  were  so  small  that  they  were  scarcely 
noticeable ;  but  as  spring  came,  and  the  sun 
warmed  and  brightened  the/water,  and  on 
all  sides  joy  in  the  newju^life  of  the 
year  broke  forth,  lo !  life 
wo  nderful  awakened  in 
as Jfwell,  —  their  eggs  be 
to^  grow.  They 
/K  Ywi^th  all  other 
life, 
both 


new  and 
bas. 
gai 


Fishes.  55 

plant  and  animal,  responded  joyfully  to  the 
warm  caress  of  spring.  In  the  swamps 
the  willow-stems  grew  crimson  and  gold, 
showers  of  catkins  swung  from  the  alders, 
and  the  silver  "pussies"  peeped  from  their 
nut-brown  coats.  All  over  the  fields  the 
buds  grew  large  upon  the  trees  and  the 
dry  twigs  changed  and  looked  alive,  as  a 
delicate  indefinable  color  crept  over  them. 
Not  a  leaf  to  be  seen,  yet  all  Nature  glowed 
in  anticipation  of  the  joyous  life  soon 
to  unfold.  And  everywhere  the  fish,  too, 
leaped  for  joy,  and  their  eggs  grew.  In 
the  Northern  lakes  the  bass,  with  number- 
less fresh-water  companions,  felt  the  stir- 
ring of  new  life.  Everywhere  in  the  ponds 
the  little  fish  were  filled  with  the  joy  of 
existence.  At  the  great  river  mouths, 
where  icy  water  sweeps  from  the  regions 
of  snow  out  into  the  open  sea,  the  salmon 
leaped  up  the  cold  current,  eager  for  the 
fresh-water  pools,  where  their  offspring 
were  to  come  to  a  life  of  their  own.  Out 


56  A  Song  of  Life. 

in  the  Gulf  Stream  the  young  eggs  of  the 
skate  took  shape  and  became  the  purses 
with  clinging  tendrils  to  anchor  the 
'  quaint  cradle  with  its  baby  to  the 
weeds  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 
Everywhere  —  in  the  sea,  the  rivers, 
the  lakes,  and  little  ponds  —  the 
fish  had  felt  the  stirring  of  life  and 
the  eggs  grew.  They  grew  until,  in 
the  ordinary  fish,  they  filled  a  large 
part  of  the  body  cavity.  The  sac  which 
holds  these  flower-seeds  of  the  deep  is  the 
ovary,  and  the  eggs  themselves  the  ova. 
The  eggs  grow  until  they  are  ripe  and 
ready  to  be  deposited  in  the  water.  But 
these  flower-seeds,  these  ova,  are  in  them- 
selves incomplete;  they  have  not  enough 
of  life  to  perfect  the  future 
fish ;  they,  like  the  true  flow- 
ers, need  the  touch  of  other  life, 
the  adding  of  new  power  to  their 
own  possibilities.  And  this  life,  like  that  in 
the  pollen  of  the  flowers,  grows  as  the  eggs 


Fisbes.  57 

>5^(^  J^-  gr°w,  that  it  may  be  ready, 
ftW/^when  the  time  comes,  to  join 
them.  As  spring  draws  near, 
male  fish,  too,  feels  the  mys- 
tery of  life  stirring  within  him. 
He  also  has  sacs  like  the  egg  sacs, 
but  they  are  filled  with  the  other  half 
of  the  egg-life,  the  pollen,  as  we  should 
call  it  if  it  were  a  flower,  the  fertiliz- 
ing fluid  since  it  is  a  fish.  This  fer- 
tilizing fluid  contains  numberless  minute 
living  bodies,  transparent  as  glass,  delicately 
formed,  full  of  motion  and  beautiful  to 
look  at,  though  they  are  so  small  as  to 
be  invisible  except  through  the  microscope. 
During  the  winter  these  sacs,  like  the 
ovaries,  were  small ;  but  they  grew  with 
the  spring,  and  the  owner  of  them  was 
filled  with  the  joy  of  new  life  that  moved 
in  him  as  well  as  in  the  buds  and  twigs. 
And  in  the  Northern  lakes  a  time  came 
when  the  bass  prepared  nests  for  their 
young.  Two  by  two  they  swam  away 


58  A  Song  of  Life. 

to  a  quiet  place  in  the  clear  water;  and 
each  pair  having  selected  a  smooth  spot 
on  the  bottom  of  the  pond,  they  carefully 
fanned  away  all  small  sticks  and  other 
rubbish  with  their  fins,  and  in 
their  mouths  carried  away  the  little 
stones^  until  each  pair  had  formed  upon 
the  dark  bottom  of  the  pond  a  round 
'white  floor,  as  clean  as  though 
had  been  swept.  Into  these 
nests  the  eggs  were  deposited.  As  soon  as 
they  were  laid  in  the  sand  by  the  mother, 
the  other  fish  poured  over  them  the  fertiliz- 
ing fluid;  and  when  the  tiny  living  par- 
ticles of  this  wonderful  fluid  had  touched 
the  eggs,  lo!  the  eggs  became  living  be- 
ings. The  new  presence  aroused  them  from 
inactivity.  They  began  to  grow,  and  were 
in  time  transformed  into  myriads  of 
little  bass.  And  thus  do  the  eggs  / 
and  fertilizing  principle  of  all 
fish  join  to  produce  new  life. 
To  the  young  fish  come 

\ 


kfont. 


Fishes.  59 

not  only  the  possibilities  from  its  mother's 
life,   but    also    the    possibilities    from    its 
father's   life.    In   the  tiny  egg  was  con- 
tained the  whole  idea  of  the  mother  fish. 
In  the  tiny  living  atom  in  the  fertilizing 
principle  was  contained  the  whole  idea  of 
the  father  fish.    The  young  fish  has  thus 
much    opportunity    for    variety,    but    the 
power  to  vary  is  confined  within  certain 
strict  limits.    The  young  bass  may  be  un- 
like any  other  bass,  but  he  must  possess 
the  characteristics  which  distinguish 
bass  family.    He  may  be  himself, 
must   keep  within   the   limits  of 
basshood ;    he  cannot  share  the 
characteristics  of  the  eel  or  cod 
or  any  other  species  of  fi 
Like  the  pollen,  which  can  fertil' 
only  its  own  kind,  the  fishj  can  fertilize 
only   the    eggs    of    its  Ji    own  species 
Each   fish    is   true    t°«?^|^  nis    kind, 
and  if  some  profligate  fitfjjjm$\  were  t°  be 
untrue    to    his    ^c^U  he  would 


6o  A  Song  of  Life. 

but  waste  his  vital  power,  for  no  egg 
will  grow  if  fertilized  by  an  alien.  Eel 
and  bass  cannot  mingle,  nor  can  cod  and 
pike.  He  who  stocks  his  pond  with  trout 
is  quite  sure  as  to  what  the  result  will  be. 

Having  laid  and  fertilized  the  eggs,  the 
parent  bass  do  not,  as  many  fish  do,  desert 
their  offspring.  They  swim  about  the  nest, 
or  hover  over  it,  until  the  young  are 
hatched  and  grown  large  enough  to  care 
for  themselves.  It  is  an  edifying  sight  to 
see  the  parent  fish  surrounded  by  a  black 
cloud  of  tiny  creatures  to  whom  he  teaches 
the  art  of  getting  a  living*. 

Fish  are  as  prolific  as  flowers.  Some- 
times millions  of  eggs  come  from  one 
ovary.  One  pair  of  shad  and  their  offspring 
could  fill  the  Atlantic  ocean  from^5&  brim 
to  brim  in  a  few  years,  if  nonejrfwere 
destroyed.  But  many  ^j  JlLflsri 

are  cannibals,  and  into 
their  ever-ready  stom- 
achs  the  superfluous  lik 


Fishes. 


61 


is  received,  and  many  little  fish  are  thus 
converted  into  material  for  one  big  fish. 

One  cannot  help  wondering  what  would 
happen  if  the  big  fish  thus  nourished  were 
to  assimilate  the  feelings  as  well  as  the 
bodies  of  the  little  fish  so  heartlessly 
consumed. 


FROGS. 

OOMEWHAT  higher  than  the  fish 
^  in  the  scale  of  life  is  the  frog.  Al- 
though he  begins  life  as  a  fish,  and 
in  the  tadpole  state  breathes  by  gills 
he  soon  discards  the  water-diluted  air 
of  the  pond,  and  with  perfect  lungs 
boldly  inhales  the  pure  air  of  the 
upper  world.  His  life  as  a.  tad- 
pole, although  so  fish-like,  is  much 
ferior  to  true  fish  life ;  for  though  the  fish 
has  not  the  perfect  lung,  he  has  a  modifi- 
cation of  it  which  he  fills 


64  A  Song  of  Life. 

with  air,  not  for  breathing  purposes,  but 

as  an  air-sac  to  make    him  float   like   a 

bubble  in  the  water.    Will  he  rise  to  the 

surface?  he  inflates  the  air-bladder.    Will 

*  he  sink  to  the  bottom  ?  he  compresses  the 

%  air-bladder.    But  in  the  frog  the  air-blad- 

(  der  changes  into  the  lungs,  and  is  never 

,  ^  the  delicate  balloon  which  floats  the  fish 

%  in  aqueous  space.    When  the  frog's  lungs 

4  are  perfected,  his  gills  close  and  he  for- 
v>/  ever  abandons  fish-life,  though  being 
)    a  cold-blooded  creature  he  needs 
]'  comparatively  little  air,  and  delights  to 
return  to  his  childhood's  home  in  the 
bottom  of  the  pond.     But  although  he 
can  stay  under  water  for  a  long  time, 
he  is  obliged  to  hold  his  breath  while 
there,  and  when   he  would  breathe  must 
come  to  the  surf  ace  _^^=^4o  do  so.   It  is 
possible   to    drown 
holding  him  under  water. 

As  a  feeder  the 
relies  upon  animal  life,  which 


Frogs. 


pertly  seizes  with  a  tongue  fastened  by  the 
wrong  end,  as  compared  with  our  tongues. 
He  is  a  certain  marksman,  and  when  he 
aims  at  an  insect  the  chances  are  that  the 
insect  will  enter  his  stomach  and  be  there 
speedily  changed  into  a  new  form  of  ani- 
mal life. 

Although  from  the  moment  the  gills 
disappear  the  frog  is  a  true  land  animal, 
he  is  obliged,  on  account  of  the  fish-like 
character  of  his  young,  to  lay  his  eggs  in 
the  water.  For  this  .  purpose  the  frogs 
enter  the  pools  in  early  spring.  The  sur- 
face of  every  country  pond  swarms  with 
the  bright-eyed  little  creatures.  They  have 
awakenc~^ed  from  a 
Jong^cold, 


66  A  Song  of  Life. 

to  find  the  spring  about  them  and  within 
them.  Life  has  suddenly  become  abundant 
and  joyous.  Their  sluggish  blood  flows 
faster,  their  hearts  beat  quicker ;  they  leap, 
they  swim,  they  swell  out  their  throats 
and  call  to  each  other  in  various  keys. 
The  toads  are  with  them,  and  the  pretty 
tree-frogs  that  change  their  color  to  suit 
their  emotions.  And  all  are  rapturously 
screaming.  Their  voices  are  not  musical, 
according  to  man's  standard,  but  seem  to 
afford  great  satisfaction  to  the  performers 
in  the  shrill  orchestra  of  the  swamps,  who 
thus  give  vent  to  the  flood  of  life  that 
sweeps  through  them  after  the  still,  icy 
winter. 

As  though  the  new  spring-life  were  too 
plentiful  to  find  room  in  the  frogs  and 
toads  already  existing,  it  calls  for  more 
frogs  and  toads;  and  new  creatures  are 
born  to  share  the  extra  vitality.  Like  the 
flowers  and  the  fish,  the  frogs,  too,  give 
forth  new  life.  Within  them,  too,  the 


Frogs. 


miracle  is  performed.  The  tiny  eggs  of 
the  one  wake  up  and  begin  to  grow.  The 
tiny  living  bodies  in  the  fertilizing  princi- 
ple of  the  other  also  wake  up  and  begin 
to  grow.  But  higher  life  is  better  guard- 
ed, because  less  prolific.  The  frog  and 
the  toad  lay  but  few  eggs  as  compared 
with  the  fish.  Fish  eggs  may  drop  under 
the  stones  or  float  away,  and  so  escape 
the  vital  touch  of  the  fertilizing  principle. 
There  are  so  many  that  numbers  may  be 
lost  and  yet  enough  remain  to  continue 
the  family.  Not  so  with  the  frog  family. 
No  egg  may  be  lost.  So  we  find  that 
the  eggs  of  the  frog  are  not  dropped 
singly,  like  so  many  shot,  but  are  bound 
together  by  a  colorless,  transparent,  jelly- 
like  substance,  much  like 
that  found  in  the  morning- 
glory  seed,  and  which  like 
that  supplies  nourishment 
to  the  young  life,  for 
the  tadpole  feeds 


68 


A  Song  of  Life. 


upon  it  until  he  is  able  to  seek  other  food. 
Moreover,  instinct  has  taught  the  frog  the 
need  of  extreme  caution  in  the  act  of  fer- 
tilization. Every  egg  must  be  fertilized. 
As  the  time  draws  near  for  the  dropping 
of  the  few  eggs  into  the  water,  the  male 
frog  so  places  himself  that  the  moment 
the  eggs  are  being  laid,  he  pours  over 
them,  one  by  one,  as  they  fall  into  the 
water,  the  fertilizing  fluid. 

And  thus  the  mystery  of  life  is  again 
repeated.  The  union  of  the  living,  ^^mi- 
croscopic bodies  of  the^jK. .^f  j 
fertilizing  principle  with  thf^L^^new- 
laid  egg  is  followed  by  the  growth  of  G* 
the  two  elements  into  a  living  creature, 
able  to  eat,  to  breathe,  to  see,  to  feel. 
In  some  unknown  way  the  atom  of  fer- 
tilizing principle  seems  to  have  con- 
tained ffi\  the  whole  life  of  the  father- 
frog'  iiiAxfor  it  can  give  to  his  sons 
and  daughters  any  of 
his  peculiarities,  either 


Frogs.  69 

of  color,  form,  motion,  or  disposition;  and 
the  tiny  egg  seems  to  have  contained  the 
whole  life  of  the  mother-frog,  and  can 
give  to  her  sons  and  daughters  any  of 
her  peculiarities;  though,  as  is  true  of  all 
inheritance,  the  tadpoles,  as  the  young 
frogs  are  called,  share  the  natures  of  both 
parents,  inheriting  some  peculiarities  from 
the  father  and  others  from  the  mother. 

But,  like  other  life,  although  the  frogs 
may  vary  a  good  deal  within  frog  limits, 
none  of  them  can  escape  their  own  limits 
and  enter  into  those  of  any  other  life. 
Once  a  frog,  always  a  frog ;  and  no  frog- 
egg  may  hope  to  develop  into  a  turtle, 
or  a  bird,  or  anything  but  a  frog.  The 
life  in  the  fertilizing  principle  of  the  frog 
is  sacred  to  frog  eggs,  and  is  lifeless  in 
contact  with  any  other. 

Our  common  frogs,  like  many  of  the 
fishes,  do  not  trouble  themselves  about 
the  fate  of  their  eggs  after  they  are  care- 
fully laid  in  a  safe  place.  They  trust 


70  A  Song  of  Life. 

Mother  Nature  to  see  the  little  tadpoles 
safely  through  the  perils  of  childhood,  to 
help  them  change  their  dresses  and  get 
rid  of  their  tails,  and  cut,  not  their  teeth, 
but  their  arms  and  legs. 

In  Venezuela,  however,  there  dwells  a 
frog  with  well  developed  maternal  instinct. 
The  mothers  have  pockets  on  their  backs, 
not  for  their  own  convenience,  but  as 
cradles  for  their  babies.  The  fathers  put 
the  fertilized  eggs  into  the  pockets  of 
the  mothers  ;  and  there  they  remain,  well 
guarded,  until  the  young  are  able  to 
.care  for  themselves. 


BIRDS. 

nr:0  talk  intelligently  of  birds,  one  needs 
•  to  be  a  bird  or  an  angel.  One  who 
moves  always  upon  the  surface  of  the 
earth,  unable  to  hang  suspended  above  it 
for  even  an  inch  of  space,  cannot  conceive 
of  what  it  is  to  be  a  bird  with  wings. 
All  animals,  and  plants  too,  live  on  air; 
but  their  relation  to  it  is  commonplace, 
ignoble,  compared  to  the  relation  between 
the  birds  and  the  air.  One  is  tempted  to 
assert  that  birds  are  air,  they  are  so  full 
of  it.  Michelet,  the  bird's  lover,  thus 
speaks  of  it:  — 

^"But    this    faculty,    this    rapid    in- 

„  halation  or  expulsion  of  air,  .  .  . 
[/whence    does    it    proceed?      From    an 


A  Song  of  Life. 


unique,  unheard-of  power  of  respiration. 
The  man  who  should  inhale  a  similar 
quantity  of  air  at  one  breath  would  be 
suffocated.  The  bird's  elastic  and  pow- 
erful lung  quaffs  it,  grows  full  of  it, 
grows  intoxicated  with  vigor  and  delight, 
and  pours  it  abundantly  into  its  aerial 
cells.  Each  aspiration  is  renewed,  second 
after  second,  withvfe^^^^  "  tremend- 
ous rapidity.  The  fS,  blood,  cease- 
lessly vivified  with  fres(y\air,y  supplies\ 
cle_ 

ible  energy 


air. 


it  h 


,/as 


possesses,   and 
belongs   only   to   the 
Elements." 

,fish    swims    in    the 
the  bird  swims  in  the 
To  ^fiL  propel   it  through    space 
a  win]pmpf    rare  mechanism,  to 
Michemlet  does  honor.  Speak- 
"ing  of   the%    wing  of  the  frigate- 
bird,  he  says: — 


Birds.  73 

"  The  instrument  acts  so  directly 
on    the    mover,    the   oar    on    the 
rower,  and  unites  with  him  so  Per~\     ^ 
fectly,  that  the  impetuous  frigate-bird  *s^ 
sweeps  along  at  the  rate  of  eighty  V^r 
leagues  an    hour,  —  five   or 

times    swi  ^fter,  __    ^        ,  __ 

A 


ost  r  rapid 

railway  trains,  out- 
*  slripping  the  hurricane,  and  with  no 
rival  but  the  lightning." 
And  every  one  knows  of  the  equally 
marvellous  vibrations  of  the  humming- 
bird's wings,  though  few  understand  the 
tremendous  muscular  power  such  vibration 
expresses.  The  bird  is  concentrated  vitality. 
In  no  other  creature  is  life  so  like  a  flame. 
He  seeks  in  his  food  fuel  to  feed  the  flame, 
and  we  find  him  eating  seeds,  the  part 
of  the  plant  where  most  nutrition,  most 
vitality  is  stored;  or  he  takes  fruits,  the 


74  A  Song  of  Life. 

best  product  of  the  plant  next  to  the 
seed;  or  he  regales  himself  upon  insects, 
which,  next  to  himself,  contain  the  fiercest 
heat  of  life.  He  will  not  feed  upon  the 
grass-blades,  or  coarser  fibres  of  vegetable 
life;  he  takes  the  heart,  the  life  of  the 
plant,  for  his  food. 

Where  destined  to  consume  decaying 
animal  matter,  the  bird  has  a  power  of 
digestion  as  wonderful  as  is  his  power  of 
flight;  and  there  is  seemingly  no  limit  to 
the  amount  of  foul  nutrition  the  vulture 
can  convert,  in  the  intense  laboratories  of 
crop  and  gizzard,  into  the  strong  fibre  of 
his  body. 

The  bird  is  so  full  of  life  that  ceaseless 
activity  is  the  consequence,  and  the  over- 
plus vitality  impels  him  to  violent  contests 
with  his  fellow  birds.  The  sparrow,  oblivi- 
ous to  everything  but  the  rage  that  ani- 
mates him,  will  sometimes  allow 
himself  to  be  caught  rather  than  let 
go  his  hold  on  his  hated  rival.  The 


Birds.  75 

little  king-bird  will  boldly  attack  and  per- 
sistently worry  the  eagle  or  owl.  A  lion 
is  not  as  fierce  as  a  humming-bird,  nor  as 
ready  to  fight  against  odds. 

And  there  is  with  the  birds,  as  with  all 
other  life,  a  time  of  intensest  vitality,  —  a 
den  life,  from  its  very  fulness, 
creates  new  life  to  succeed  its  de- 
cline. As  spring  colors  the  earth, 
birds  sing  aloud;  their  glad- 
ness bursts  forth  from  tree  and  hedge  and 
fence-top,  from  swamp  and  hillock ;  it  rises 
from  the  earth,  it  falls  from  heaven,  it 
flies  on  swift  bright  wings.  It  is  the  life 
which  overflows  from  every  bird,  for  the 
bird  which  only  croaks  or  squawks  at  other 
times  makes  music  in  the  spring.  The 
new  life-current  is  so  strong  that  not 
even  the  swift  wings  can  fully  ^express 
it;  it  bursts  forth  in  tones ^C  J  of 
transport.  The  vitality  is  sol&^/i 

tense  that  the  very  plumage  P 

*       "*^£.  i '  Vi 
glows.      Even    though    it   be       brown 


76  A  Song  of  Life. 

or  black  it  shines  with  a  new  light,  and 
in   many  birds,   for  a  brief  time,   flashes 
forth  in  gorgeous  brilliancy  of  color.    Joy- 
ous indeed  is  the  life  of  the  birds  in  the 
springtime.     Space  is  their  dwelling-place 
and  color  their  heritage,  and  how  dreary 
earth  would  be  without  them!    A  world 
without  birds,  —  meadows  without  bob-o- 
links,  hedges  without  thrushes,  skies  with- 
out   swallows,    door-yards    ''JK&£**gfafJt 
without  robins  and  blue-    A 
birds,  —  their  color,  motion,   ' 


music,  missing! 

But  the  overflow  of  life  in 
springtime  has  a  meaning  full 
hope  for  the  future.  New  birds  are 
be.  The  exuberant  vitality  is  a  dowry  for 
the  next  generation.  The  life  that  is,  is 
about  to  produce  other  life;  and  all  the 
joyous  vitality  finally  centres  about  that 
one  point.  With  the  beautiful  spring 
awakening  there  awoke  a  new  life  in  each 
bird.  In  one  the  tiny  egg  began  to  grow, 


Birds.  77 

in   the   other   the   fertilizing    principle   to 
develop. 

But  this  strange,  sweet  life  of  the  bird 
is  different  from  all  else  we  have  con- 
sidered. It  is  more  like  our  „„•;, 
own.  There  is  red,  hot 
blood;  there  is  a  highly 
complicated  mechanism  of 
form ;  and  more  than  all,  a  quick 
intelligence,  which  places  the  bird 
high  up  in  the  scale  of  animal 
The  frog's  eggs  were  more  precious  than 
those  of  the  fish,  because  of  the  more 
complex  life  of  the  frog  and  consequent 
smaller  number  of  eggs;  the  bird's  eggs 
are  far  more  precious  still.  The  simple 
flower  lays  its  countless  eggs;  the  simple 
fish  also  lays  countless  eggs;  the  less  sim- 
ple frog  lays  fewer  eggs ;  and  the  bird,  less 
simple  yet,  lays  but  few,  often  at  the  end 
of  the  laying  season  having  but  four  or 
five.  And  the  life  in  the  bird's  egg,  —  how 
complex  it  is;  how  marvellous  the  power 


78  A  Song  of  Life. 

that  converts  the  formless  substance  into 
this  complicated,  living  creature! 

How  great  the  planning  to  produce  the 
perfect  bird,  — all  from  an  egg  and  an 
atom  of  fertilizing  fluid!  And  when  the 
young  bird  comes,  how  helpless  it  is,  un- 
able to  do  aught  but  open  its  mouth  for 
food!  The  care  of  it  is  something  prodi- 
gious, and  begins  long  before  it  leaves  the 
mother's  body.  The  fish  and  frogs  drop 
their  eggs  into  the  water,  where  they  are 
fertilized  in  the  simplest  manner.  The 
bird  builds  a  nest  and  sits  upon  her  eggs, 
supplying  warmth  from  her  body  until  the 
young  come  forth.  This  sitting  upon  the 
egg  makes  necessary  a  protection  to  the 
delicate  contents.  Were  the  bird's  eggs 
jelly-like,  as  are  those  of  the  fish  and 
frog,  they  would  soon  be  crushed  and 
destroyed;  but  they  come  forth  provided 
with  a  hard,  firm  shell  of  lime,  porous  to 
let  in  the  air  — for  even  the  chick  in  the 
egg  must  have  air  — but  impervious  to 


Birds.  79 

liquids.  Thus  they  would  seem  to  be 
protected  against  life  itself,  against  the 
fertilizing  fluid,  for  that  cannot  penetrate 
the  shell.  But  there  is  a  time  in  the  his- 
tory of  the  egg  when  it  has  no  shell. 
The  bird's  ovaries  are  on  either  side  of 
the  body,  and  are  filled  with  tiny,  soft 
eggs,  not  so  large  as  a  pin's  head.  These 
eggs  grow  one  at  a  time,  instead  of  all 
together,  as  in  the  fish  and  frog.  As  an 
egg  grows,  it  becomes  separated  from  the 
other  eggs  in  the  ovary  and  slides  down 
a  tube  leading  from  the  ovary  to  the  outer 
world;  but  it  has  no  shell.  And  now  is 
the  time  for  the  fertilizing  fluid  to  do  its 
work.  Instinct  again  provides  for  the  new 
life,  and  the  male  bird  deposits  the  fertiliz- 
ing fluid  where  the  shelless  egg  lies  ready 
for  it.  As  the  egg^^A^proceeds  on  its 
journey  it  becomes^^/coated  with  a 
covering  of  lir^J^1  !^^until  the  hard, 
firm  shell  <^>^^^^^oses»  not 

the  egg 


8o  A  Song  of  Life. 

alone,  but  the  vital  spark  of  the  fertilizing 
fluid  as  well,  holding  these  two  wondrous 
elements  bound  in  its  close  embrace,  until 
they  burst  it  asunder,  and  — marvel  of 
marvels  —  emerge  from  the  formless  egg- 
mass,  a  bird! 

One  after  the  other  the  eggs  grow,  are 
fertilized,  receive  the  shell,  and  are  laid. 
Then  comes  the  long  and  trying 
of  incubation,  or  hatching.^The 
bird  must  sit,  day  afteij^^g/^day,  upon 
the  changing  eggs.  ^-K^Scarcely  a  mo- 
ment can  they  be  left,  for  a  chill  might 
prove  fatal  to  the  life  of  the  forming  birds. 
To  no  animal  can  a  long  period  of  en- 
forced rest  be  so  trying  as  to  a  bird,  with 
its  quick-flowing,  hot  blood,  its  impetu- 
ously throbbing  heart,  and  its  love  of 
activity.  Why,  then,  does  it  do  this? 
Every  mother  knows;  and  Michelet,  him- 
self a  sort  of  human  bird,  judging  from 
his  tender  knowledge  of  all  that  touches 
bird-life,  has  told  it.  He  is  talking  of 
the  egg  when  he  says,— 


Birds. 


8  1 


"What  is  it?  1  know  not;  but 
she  knows  well, —  yonder  trembling 
creature  who  with  outstretched  wings 
embraces  and  matures  it  with  her 
/  warmth ;  she  who  until  now  the  free 
queen  of  the  air,  lived  at  her  own  wild 
will,  and  suddenly  fettered,  sits  motionless 
on  that  mute  object  which  one  would  call 
a  stone,  and  which  as  yet  gives  forth  no 
sign  of  life.  .  .  . 

"Yes,  that  mother  knows  and  sees  dis- 
tinctly by  means  of  the  penetration  and 
clairvoyance  of  love.  Through  the  thick, 
calcareous  shell  where  your  rude  hand  per- 
ceives nothing,  she  feels  by  a  delicate  tact 
the  mysterious  being  which  she  nourishes 
and  forms.  It  is  this  feeling  which  sus- 
tains her  through  the  ^ard  \\uous  labor 
of  incubation,  during 
protracted  captivity, 
sees  it,  delicate  and 
ing  in  its  soft  down  / 
of  infancy,  and  she;' 


82 


A  Song  of  Life. 


predicts  with  the  vision  of  hope  that  it 
will  be  vigorous  and  bold,  when  with  out- 
spread wings,  it  shaH  eye  the  sun^and 
breast  the  storm.  Jfiffi* 

«L 

"A   delightful  spectacle,  ^|^?     but 
even    more    sublime   than  t^5^J delight- 
ful.   Let  us  be  modest  here.    With  us  the 
0   mother   loves  that  which  stirs   in   her 
•ll.   bosom,  that  which  she  touches,  clasps, 
('*?   enfolds    in    assured    possession ;    she 
loves    the    reality,    certain,    agitated, 
and  moving,  which  responds  to  her 
own    movements.     But    this    one 
loves  the  future  and  the  unknown ; 
her  heart  beats  solitarily,  and  noth- 
ing as  yet   responds  to  its  pulsa- 
tions.    Yet  is  not   her   love  the   less 
intense;   she  devotes  herself  and 
suffers  unto  death  for  her  dream  and 
her  faith." 

What  a  tribute  is  this  to  the  unself- 
trusting  love  of  the  bird!     It  would 


ish, 


Birds.  83 

seem  that  its  power  to  love  is  as 
great  as  its  marvellous  vitality. 
.  All  are  familiar  with  the  family  life  of 
the  birds ;  all  know  of  the  tireless  devotion 
and  jealous  care  of  both  parents  during 
the  infancy  of  the  young.  All  know  of 
the  fearless  manner  in  which  the  parent- 
bird  defends  its  nest,  risking  its  own 
life  rather  than  desert  its  beloved.  When 
danger  threatens,  its  parental  love  flames 
forth  with  a  fury  that  stifles  every  other 
emotion.  Its  own-  safety  is  forgotten.  It 
forgets  that  it  is  feeble. 

"  But  how  help  them  ?  It- can  do  nothing 
but  remain  at  its  post  and  die;  it  cannot 
fly  away,  for  its  love  has  broken  its  wings." 

All  have  watched  the  demure  little  mo- 
ther industriously  assisting  her  busy  mate 
in  caring  for  the  family.  Bright  wings 
do  hard  work  then. 

And  in  the  nest  each 
young  bird  matures 
into    a    being 


84 


A  Song  of  Life. 


like  both  parents  and  like  neither.  Within 
each  egg  was  wonderfully  concealed  all  the 
possibilities  of  the  mother-bird.  With-\ 
in  each  microscopic 
atom  of  the 


tilizing 
more  won. 

den  the  pu^i^^^v  uy  ^^^.^- 
sibilities  of  theHather- },." 

bird,  —  his   shapeT*  his  £olpr,   his  \  l\ 

M^^N.  v  >v    (         I  I  i 

motions,  his  song  were w  \there.    How  v     ik 

was  that  song  of  his  re- 
membered by  a  micro- 
scopic atom  and  handed ^^^*^own  to  his 
sons,   so    that    when    they    stood    up    to 
sing,  out  poured  the  same  melody?    Even 
though   the   young   bird   were   exiled,   so 
that  he  never  heard  his  father's  song,  or 
the  song  of  other  birds  of  his  kind,  yet 
an   hour  would  come  when  the   impulse 


Birds.  85 

to  sing  would  move  him,  and  forth  would 
burst  the  old  strangely  remembered  —  but 
never  heard  —  melody. 

The  law  that  ruled  the  flower-life  and 
the  fish-life  and  the  frog-life  rules  % 
also  the  bird-life,  and  indeed,  all 
other  life  there  is  on  earth.  A  univer- 
sal law  has  decreed  that  the  flower- 
father,  the  fish-father,  the  frog-  - 
father,  —  every  father  shall  live  again  in 
the  microscopic  particle  of  fertilizing  prin- 
ciple ;  it  has  decreed  that  every  mother  shall 
live  again  in  the  tiny  cell  we  call  the  egg; 
it  has  decreed  that  these  minute  particles 
shall  retain  the  most  perfect  stamp  of  their 
owners,  ^^^^an^  be  able  to  transmit 
any  power^^^the  owner  may  possess. 


THE   END  — 
AND  THE   BEGINNING. 

PURELY  physical  vitality  reaches  its  climax 
in  the  bird.  Such  intensity  of  life  and 
joy  we  find  nowhere  else;  it  throbs  in 
every  atom  of  the  hot  little  body,  it  per- 
forms prodigious  feats  of  flight,  it  escapes 
in  song  so  loud  and  long  that  no  other 
creature  could  stand  an  equal  strain. 
Think  of  the- amount  of  air  set  in  vibra- 
tion by  a  wood-thrush  or  mocking-bird 
during  its  prolonged  solo,  and  then  think 
of  the  size  of  the  organs  that  do  it.  Re- 
call the  form  of  the  song-sparrow  on  the 
topmost  bough  of  some  tree,  head  thrown 
back,  body  quivering,  every  muscle  con- 
tracted, while  a  loud  and  prolonged  melody 


88  A  Song  of  Life. 

pours  from  the  atom  of  intense  life.  No 
other  creature  can  enter  the  lists  of  pure 
physical  life  with  the  bird ;  there  it  is 
without  peer. 

What  is  left  for  the  creature  who,  in  the 
course  of  development,  must ^  surpass  it? 
The   bird  has  reached  the^fSumCv\mit^ 
of    physical    existence,   theteV   Vr.)        } 
next  form  of  life  advances /"  ^^k^/    $ 
farther    toward    an  ^f^yX^existe 
which  is  more  than  physical. 

s\  Above  the  bird  and  at  the  top 
animal  life  stands  the  mammal,  the 
wonderful  creature  that  feeds  its 
oung  with  milk  manufactured 
in  it s^§*  own  body,  as  though  it  could 
not  trust  to  less  carefully  prepared  or 
more  uncertain  supplies  to  nourish  the 
new  life  for  which  it  is  responsible.  In 
the  cow  and  the  goat  all  are  familiar  with 
the  milk-giving  animals,  or  mammals,  as 
they  are  called,  and  which  embrace  most 
of  the  four-legged  and  the  highest  forms  of 


The  End — and  the  Beginning.      89 

the  two-legged  animals.  From  the  great 
elephant  and  fierce  lion  to  the  tiny  mouse 
and  frisky  squirrel  we  find  them.  In  its 
power  of  breathing,  the  mammal  falls 
short  of  the  bird;  its  blood  is  not  so  hot, 
and  does  not  flow  so  fast;  its  food,  in 
the  adult  state,  is  less  concentrated,  more 
crude  than  is  that  of  most  birds;  and  yet 
somewhere  in  its  creation  a  new  note  has 
been  struck,  a  new  being  has  been  formed 
which  is  as  much  higher  above  the  bird 
as  the  bird  is  above  the  sluggish,  stupid, 
cold-blooded  reptile.  A  type  has  appeared 
which  finds  its  highest  expression  in  hu- 
man life,  for  man  himself  is  the  crown  of 
the  mammal.  To  the  less  intense  physical 
life  is  united  a  higher  development  of  the 
mind-life. 

This  mind-life  dawns  low  down  in  the 
animal  kingdom,  but  not  until  the  higher 
mammals  were  reached  did  it  give  a  hint 
of  the  possibilities  it  contained,  and  which 
in  man  were  to  reach  such  marvellous  re- 


90  A  Song  of  Life. 

suits.  The  bird  may  stand  at  the  summit 
of  physical  life,  man  stands  at  the  summit 
of  mental  life.  The  vitality  which  creates 
a  great  thought  is  more  wonderful  than 
that  which  propels  the  frigate-bird  through 
the  air.  Man's  wings  are  in  his  brain ;  he 
can  outfly  the  wind,  — electricity  cannot 
girt  the  globe  quicker  than  his  thought. 
The  farthest  star  is  not  so  far  but  that 
his  mind  can  wing  its  way  through  the 
illimitable  space  and  alight  there. 

And  from  his  high  position  man  gets  the 
first  dim  glimpses  of  a  still  higher  state. 
Having  reached  the  summit  of  earthly  pos- 
sibilities he  finds  himself  at  the  borderland 
of  another  life.  Like  the  plant,  which  is 
joined  to  the  lifeless  mineral  on  one  side 
and  just  touches  the  warm  animal  vitality 
on  the  other,  he  is  joined  to  the  crude 
animal  life  on  one  side  and  just  touches 
the  dim  mystery  of  the  spirit  life  on  the 
other.  ^  He  catches  brief  glimpses  of  a  life 
of  blinding  possibilities,  which  cast  over 


The  End  —  and  the  Beginning.      91 

his  prosaic,  every-day  life  on  earth  a  help- 
ful glow. 

And  this  wonderful  spirit  of  man  is 
lodged  in  a  body  whose  complexity  sur- 
passes that  of  all  other  animals.  Although 
more  active,  even  the  bird  is  less  complex ; 
and  its  wing,  wonderful  as  it  is,  cannot 
compare  in  structure  with  the  hand  of 
man.  The  human  hand  alone,  with  its 
delicacy  of  touch  and  its  ingenious  struc- 
ture which  enables  it  to  make  thousands 
of  different  movements,  is  enough  to  make 
its  possessor  master  of  the  world. 

We  have  observed  how,  as  the  creature 
becomes  more  complex,  its  reproduction  be- 
comes a  matter  of  greater  moment.  The 
young  bird-life  is  jealously  guarded,  and 
parental  love  is  strong  in  ^, 
bird  heart.  But  there  X^  '  "'^^ 

is  an  ascending  scale  *'  ~ 
of  love  in  Natyx^~?ure  for  her 
children;  an dy^ VVhile  she 
ingeniously  L        \  protects  / 


92  A  Song  of  Life. 

her  bird-life,  she  exhausts  device  in  caring 
for  her  noblest  offspring,  the  mammal. 

The  mammalian  mother  is  united  to  her 
child  by  peculiar  and  all-powerful  bonds. 
She  literally  shares  her  life  with  it.  Hers 
is  the  perfect  motherhood,  and  her  love 
for  her  child  pales  every  other  passion. 
There  are  among  the  lower  animals  parents 
that  desert  their  young,  or  deliver  them 
over  to  the  care  of  strangers.  Among 
birds  there  are  species  that  lay  their  eggs 
in  other  birds'  nests,  and  take  no  further 
thought  of  them.  There  is  nothing  like 
this  in  mammalian  life.  In  its  whole 
range  there  is  no  mother  that  deserts  her 
child.  The  life  of  mother  and  child  are 
so  intimately  connected  that  neither  can 
exist  without  the  other.  The  motherhood 
of  mammalian  life  is  the  most  sacred  thing 
in  physical  existence.  The  very  food  of 
the  young  animal  is  part  of  its  mother's 
life  and  is  formed  within  her  body.  No 
other  food  is  so  sufficient  and  so  concen- 


The  End  — and  the  Beginning.      93 


trated.  It  is  manufactured  in  a  laboratory 
whose  secrets  have  never  been  discovered. 
We  analyze  milk  and  know  what  it  is  made 
of,  but  nowhere  else  in  nat^-— ^\ure,  or 
through  artificial  means, 
can  we  get  even  the  in- 
gredients for  this  per- 
fect food.  No  other  fat 

is  like  butter,  no  other  albu- 

/  <• 

minous  matter  is  like  cheese, 
no  other  sugar  is  like  sugar 
of  milk.  ||/ 

And  what  is  the  origin  of 
this  most  complex  of  all  life  ?  \\ 
Whence  springs  the  young  mam-    ' 
mal?    We  see  it  for  the  first  timev" 
at  its  mother's  side,  fully  formed.    It  is 
feeble,  but  it~Js  perfect.    Has  Nature 
changed  x^?$L  her  whole   plan  of 
reproducer/ ^       x^tion?    Has  she 
evolved  all 
life  from 
egg,  to 


94  A  Song  of  Life. 

cast  it  away  as  inadequate  to  the  needs  of 
the  mammal?  Has  she  through  the  egg 
solved  the  question  of  reproduction  for 
plants  as  well  as  animals  and  at  last  failed 
because  her  plan  was  not  perfect  enough 
to  go  one  step  further? 

To  contemplate  the  subject  before  us, 
let  us  go  into  the  wild  wood,  far  away 
from  the  noise  of  cities.  Let  us  go  where 
all  is  clean  and  sweet  and  fresh  in  the 
beauty  of  early  summer.  The  birds  are 
not  there,  for  they  love  the  more  open 
places;  but  life  is  there  in  shapes  as  beau- 
tiful, for  between  the  distant  tree-trunks 
move  dim  forms.  A  magnificent  pair  of 
antlers  is  half  hidden  by  the  leaves.  A 
slender  doe  daintily  speeds  away  with  a 
speckled  fawn  at  her  side.  Pretty,  horn- 
less heads  and  great  soft  eyes  bear  witness 
to  the  presence  of  other  members  -of  the 
same  family,  but  they  are  so  shy  we  seem 
to  feel  rather  than  see  them ;  and  to  our 
half  dreaming  senses  the  breeze  and  flut- 


The  End  — and  the  Beginning.      95 

tering   leaves   take   up   the   song   of    life. 
And  this  is  the  song  they  sing:  — 

"  The  beautiful  doe  as  well  as  her  fawn, 
the  stag  with  his  antlers,  all  began  life  as 
a  tiny,  oh  very  tiny  egg." 

"O  wind  and  leaves,  you  must  be 
mistaken ! " 

But  the  wind  shakes  the  leaves  and 
laughs  aloud,  and  goes  sweeping  through 
the  forest  singing  this  refrain:  — 

"  The  egg  is  the  source  of  life, — the 
wonderful  egg.    Within  it  was  once 
held  the  stag,  as  well  as  the  doe  and 
\  the  fawn.   The  fierce  tiger, 
A  of  the  torrid   zone  was 

once  a  harmless  egg.     The  \huge 
elephant  was  but  an  idea   ^-^^o 
impressed  upon  an  egg.  ^^4  j^y( 
The  rhinoceros  with  theV-^/   V 
cruel  horn,  and  the  hippo-    !  \  '/  j 
potamus  with  the  cavernous    ^X_ 


96  A  Song  of  Life. 

mouth  were  only  eggs.  The  race-horse 
began  life  as  an  egg.  The  watch-dog, 
too,  was  a  very  little  egg.  The  black  cat 
now  stealing  the  egg  from  the  hen's  nest 
was  herself  once  an  egg  a  hundred  times 
smaller  than  that  she  steals.  Oh  the  egg, 
the  wonderful  egg — egg  —  the  egg!" 

And  the  wind  dies  away,  leaving  us 
much  food  for  thought,  for  all  that  we 
have  heard  is  true.  The  mammalian  egg 
is  as  much  a  reality  as  is  that  of  the  fish 
or  the  bird.  But  under  ordinary  circum- 
stances it  is  never  seen,  being  exceedingly 
small  and  remaining  during  its  period  of 
development  a  captive  within  the  mother's 
body.  It  is  therefore  not  strange  that  for 
ages  the  presence  of  this  hidden  mystery 
escaped  detection.  All  sorts  of  theories 
were  afloat  as  to  the  origin  of  the  young 
mammalian  life,  but  that  it  came  from  an 
egg,  like  all  other  life,  was  not  apparent. 

Nevertheless,  on  either  side  of  the  mam- 
malian mother's  body,  just  as  in  the  fish, 


The  End  —  and  the  Beginning.      97 

frog,  and  bird,  lie  the  ovaries.  The  eggs 
they  contain  are  so  small  that  to  predict 
a  living  animal,  like  a  lamb  or  a  calf,  or 
even  a  rabbit  or  a  mouse,  from  one  of 
them  seems  absurd;  and  yet  the  whole 
life  of  the  animal  is  compressed  within 
the  tiny  vital  spheres.  The  doe's  egg  is 
not  so  large  as  the  smallest  pea.  Its  pos- 
sibilities are  colossal.  Let  us  consider  its 
development.  One  egg,  or  sometimes 
two,  develops  at  a  time.  The  egg,  when 
mature,  leaves  its  companions  in  the  ovary 
and  finds  its  way  through  a  tube  con- 
nected with  the  ovary  into  a  pouch  into 
which  the  tube  opens.  Although  no 
larger  than  a  number  eight  shot,  within 
this  tiny  egg  is  the  possibility  of  becom- 
ing a  deer.  But  its  life  is  not  abundant 
enough  to  effect  the  transformation  alone; 
other  life  must  be  added  to  it.  As  in  the 

case  of  the  bird,  the  fertiliz-  •( 
principle  is  added  to  the  & 

incomplete  life  eager  to  live  *-i 


98  A  Song  of  Life. 

and  grow.  Two  infinitely  small  atoms  of 
vitality  join  forces,  and  the  result  is  the 
complex  creature  we  call  a  deer. 

Slowly  the  new  life  forms;  to  the  origi- 
nal tiny  particle  of  living  matter  must 
be  added  great  store  of  nourishment.  In 
the  other  eggs  considered,  food  was  stored 
up  in  the  egg  and  pure  air  found  its  way 
through  the  porous  egg-covering ;  but  here 
is  no  provision  in  the  tiny  egg  for  either 
food  or  air.  This  child  must  owe  all  to 
its  mother.  Every  particle  of  life  must 
proceed  directly  from  her.  Her  lungs  must 
breathe  the  oxygen  it  needs.  Her  food 
must  furnish  it  material  for  growing.  Its 
very  blood  must  flow  from  her  heart ; 
and  she  is,  in  every  fibre  of  her  loving 
body,  ready  to  meet  the  demand.  Large 
blood-vessels  seek  the  room  in  which 
the  formless  captive  lies,  and  carry  to  it 
blood,  rich  and  pure.  The  food  which 
the  mother  eats  serves  not  only  for  her 
own  nourishment  but  also  for  the  growth 


Tbe  End — and  tbe  Beginning.      99 

and  nourishment  of  that  wonderful  being, 
her  other  self,  that  lies  under  her  heart. 
As  the  fawn  grows  larger,  more  and  more 
of  the  nourishment  the  mother  takes  goes 
to  its  support,  until,  after  several  months 
of  this  development,  it  is  fully  formed  and 
jj  ready  for  its  new  life  in  the  open  air. 

The  story  is  only  the  story  of  the  egg  ( 
told  over  again.    In  the  lower  animals  the 
eggs  were  laid  and  then  hatched ;  but  here 
the  life  is  too  precious  to  be  exposed 
to  the  dangers  which  would   menace 
\ ,J\"\  it   if   it   were   developed   in   the 

^V5  outer  world,  and   so,   safe   near 

\ 
I  r       A  the  mother's  heart,  the  little  new 

I    '  -Jt  I  form  is  perfected.    And  when  it 
-'  '^  enters  the  world,  too  feeble  to  do 
tight  but  eat,  its  table  is  spread  , 
a  food  kings  could  not  buy.  ' 
Seeds    may   grow    for    the 
birds,  grain   and   fruit   for 

other   creatures, 
but    the   food  , 


ioo  A  Song  of  Life. 

of  the  little  fawn  comes  only  with  the 
sweet  mystery  of  motherhood. 

And  what  is  this  milk, —this  food 
which  gold  cannot  buy,  but  which  is  a 
free  gift  from  the  mother  to  her  child, 
this  delectable  drink  that  springs  from  the 
mysterious  fountain  of  life?  It  is  all  that 
the  fawn  is.  It  is  bones,  muscles,  blood, 
tissues,  and  organs  of  all  descriptions. 
Complex  as  the  animal  is,  it  contains 
nothing  which  did  not  at  first  exist  in 
some  form  in  the  milk. 

The  doe-mother  is  nothing  as  far  as 
the  development  of  her  own  life  is  con- 
cerned. She  is  for  the  time  obliterated, 
merged  in  the  life  of  her  fawn.  The 
lime  she  consumes  does  not  go  to  replen- 
ish her  own  bones,  it  collects  in  the  milk 
to  develop  the  bones  of  the  fawn.  The 
albumen  she  extracts  from  her  food  does 
not  nourish  her  muscles,  it  is  stored 
away  in  the  milk  for  the  fawn;  and  the 
mother  loses  flesh  and  beauty  because 


The  End  — and  tbe  Beginning.     101 

giving  the  best  of  her  life  to  her  child. 
And  all  her  loyal  mother's  life  she  will 
gladly  give  if  her  child  requires  it.  Justly 
man  reverences  motherhood. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  repeat  that  the 
manner  of  reproduction  of  all  mammals 
is  the  same.  Man  himself  passes  through 
the  wonderful  transformation.  The  higher 
mental  powers,  already  begun  in  the  lower 
animju1,  find  their  fullest  development  in 
him ;  but  he  starts  like  the  rest,  as  a  form- 
less speck  of  living  matter. 

The  child  is  everywhere  but  a  bud- 
ding of  the  parent,  — a  blossoming  of  exist- 
ing adult  life  into  the  lovely  flowers  of 
infancy. 

We  know  the  facts  of  renewed  life ;  the 
great  mystery  of  it  we  do  not  know. 
The  soul  within  the  strange  and  beautiful 
body  is  shrouded  from  our  gaze  as  com- 
pletely as  it  was  from  the  gaze  of  our 
forefathers. 

We  have  outstripped  them  in  knowledge 


102  A  Song  of  Life. 

of  material  facts;  in  knowledge  of  spirit- 
ual ones  we  have  not  advanced  one  step. 
This  only  is  certain,  —  that  we  go  on  and 
on  forever.  Not  only  what  we  have  in- 
herited, but  what  we  have  gained  by  our 
own  efforts,  sets  its  stamp  upon  our  vital 
forces,  and  vibrates  through  the  future 
ages.  We,  more  than  all  the  rest  of  the 
animal  creation,  have  knowledge.  This 
knowledge  informs  us  that  our  bodies  are 
temples,  sacred  receptacles  of  a  soul,  and 
are  the  altar-flames  for  future  beings. 
Knowledge  enables  us  to  care  for  our 
bodies  so  that  they  may  become  stronger, 
more  beautiful,  and  more  perfect  than  our 
inherited  bodies  could  have  been  if  left  to 
chance.  Knowledge  makes  us  able  to 
.  develop  our  minds  and  souls  so  that 
.  they,  too,  may  be  finer  and  higher 
*  '  Si  than  our  inheritance.  And  grandest 
of  all,  --.knowledge  has  taught 
every  power  we  add 


\ 


The  End  —  and  the  Beginning.     103 

may  be  handed  down,  a  richer  inheritance 
than  gold,  to  our  sons  and  daughters. 

We  know  that  the  efforts  we  make  are 
tendencies  stored  up  like  the  bird's  song, 
and  that  in  some  mysterious  way  these 
tendencies  may  wake  up  in  our  beloved 
child  and  through  his  efforts  grow  yet 
stronger.  We  know  that  each  new  gen- 
eration may  reach  greater  perfection  than 
the  one  before  it,  and  we  know  that  the 
lives  which  we  of  to-day  live  are  the 
stamps  that  impress  the  possibilities  upon 
the  life  of  the  future.  Were  man's  desire 
in  proportion  to  his  knowledge,  he  could 
soon  people  the  earth  with  inhabitants  of 
perfect  beauty  and  nobility. 


c 


o 


o© 

% 

o 


THE 
WORLD'S    CRADLE. 


O 


^^1      "EVERYTHING    SPRINGS    FROM    THE    EGG;     ;  '.    '"*>-" 

XX  <       \ 

IT    IS   THE    WORLD'S   CRADLE."  Y*4 •'    - 


/;-' 


THE    WORLD'S    CRADLE. 


\yyiTHIN  the  egg  may  lie  dormant 
the  future  statesman  or  next 
summer's  butterfly.  So  far  as  the  appear- 
ance of  the  egg-substance  is  concerned 
there  is  no  more  reason  to  expect 
the  one  from  it  than  the  other. 
The  butterfly's  cradle,  to  human  ^  ken,  . 
contains  neither  less  nor  more  than 
the  man's.  The  finest  chemical  test 
cannot  point  out  that  something  in  the 
one  which  makes  it  a  man,  or/%^Mhat 
something  in  the  other  which 
makes  it  a  butterfly;  they 
are  to  all  seeming 
similar  bits  of  semi- 
fluid, animal  matter. 


io8  A  Song  of  Life. 

The  best  he  who  is  curious  about  the 
life  within  the  egg  can  do  to  understand 
the  miracle  is  to  watch  the  changes  that 
occur  as  the  egg  advances  from  a  struct- 
ureless fluid  to  an  organized  being,  to 
watch  it  proceed  from  so  simple  a  thing 
as  an  egg  appears  to  be  into  so  compli- 
cated a  thing  as  a  frog  or  a  robin  or  a 
Sir  Isaac  Newton.  Human  eyes  cannot, 
under  ordinary  circumstances,  see  these 
changes;  the  wonderful  eye  of  the  micro- 
scope must  first  be  fixed  upon  them.  Ob- 
servation has,  however,  told  every  one  a 
few  facts  about  the  hen's  egg  which  are 
helpful  in  understanding  the  development 
of  all  eggs.  We  know  that  the  hen's  egg 
consists  of  a  yelk  surrounded  by  the  soft, 
jelly-like  "white;"  and  if  we  have  looked 
carefully  enough  we  know  that  the  yelk 
is  held  in  place  by  a  delicate  wall,  which 
surrounds  it  and  separates  it  from  the 
"white."  When  we  examine  other  eggs 
we  find  that  all  have  a  part  correspond- 


The  World's  Cradle.  109 

ing  to  the  yelk,  surrounded  by  a  wall, 
and  generally  a  part  corresponding  to  the 
"white."  In  the  yelk  of  the  egg  lies  the 
vital  something  which  is  to  awaken  into 
conscious  life.  The  "white"  is  merely 
food  stored  up  to  nourish  the  young  crea- 
ture while  it  is  being  formed.  The  yelk 
is  a  mixture  of  oil  and  other  materials, 
among  which  is  a  clear,  jelly-like  sub- 
stance which  resembles  the  "white"  of 
egg,  and  is  called  protoplasm. 

What  could  appear  less  interesting  than 
this  semi-fluid,  slimy  protoplasm?  Yet 
approach  it  reverently,  for  it  is  the  one 
great,  inscrutable  mystery  of  the  physical 
world.  The  Alps  tower  snow-clad  above 
the  plains  below,  and  man  gazes  at  them 
with  awe.  The  stars  shine  out  as  they 
follow  through  fixed  courses  night  after 
night,  and  year  after  year;  and  the  immen- 
sity and  mystery  they  express  fills  the 
earth-bound  gazer  with  more  than  awe. 
And  when  he  turns  to  the  insignificant 


i  io  A  Song  of  Life. 

atom  of  protoplasm  at  his  feet,  and  his 
mind  suddenly  opens  to  its  meaning,  be- 
hold! it  is  greater  than  the  Alps,  more 
marvellous  than  the  stars,  for  in  it  is  con- 
tained the  mystery  called  life.  Protoplasm 
is  the  only  living  substance.  Every  plant 
and  every  animal  which  now  lives,  or  has 
ever  lived,  began  life  as  a  bit  of  proto- 
plasm. It  is  the  protoplasm  which  builds 
the  animal  or  vegetable  form.  It  is  the 
protoplasm  which  is  the  living  part  of 
every  creature. 

And    what    is    this    protoplasm  ?     The 
chemist  has  dared  to  analyze  it.    He  tells 
us  it   is  composed  of  carbon,   hydrogen, 
oxygen,  and  nitrogen.     A  delusion !     The 
moment  he  separates  it  into  carbon,  hydro- 
gen, oxygen,  and  nitrogen,  it  is  no  longer 
^      »<  /T^  protoplasm.   The  one  essential  thing 
^j'jX  ^V^sJn  protoplasm  is  life.    Separated 
into  its  elements  it  no 
^  longer  has 
^\  life,  it  can 


The  World's  Cradle.  in 

no  longer  change  into  a  tadpole  or  a  bird, 
or  any  living  being.  This  dead  thing  the 
chemist  analyzes  has  no  more  interest  for 
us  than  so  much  charcoal.  The  chemist 
failed  to  seize  upon  life.  As  soon  as  he 
began  his  analysis  that  escaped.  All  his 
wonderful  appliances  were  not  wonderful 
enough  to  find  it;  and  to-day  we  are  as 
ignorant  of  the  true  nature  of  protoplasm 
as  though  chemistry  and  biology  and  phil- 
osophy, and  all  the  other  sciences,  had 
never  existed.  We  only  know  that  it  is 
a  mysterious  living  substance  upon  which 
every  living  thing  depends;  that  unmixed 
with  other  substances  it  is  clear  and  jelly- 
like,  while  mixed  with  oil  and  other  ma- 
terials it  forms  the  most  important  part  of 
the  egg-yelk,  the  part  destined  to  become 
the  animal. 

When  protoplasm,  existing  alone  or 
mixed  with  other  substances,  is  surround- 
ed by  a  wall  like  the  wall  of  the  egg- 
yelk,  we  call  the  little  bag  of  protoplasm 


ii2  A  Song  of  Life. 

a  cell.  A  cell  may  also  exist  as  a  bit  of 
protoplasm  without  a  wall,  and  may  be  of 
almost  any  shape.  A  cell  is  usually  found 
in  combination  with  other  cells,  though  it 
may  exist  alone.  In  fact,  there  is  a  com- 
plete animal  which  is  no  more  nor  less 
than  a  naked  cell  of  protoplasm.  Its  name 
is  moneron.  It  has  no  nerves,  no  heart, 
no  lungs,  not  even  a  cell-wall.  And  yet 
it  is  a  living  thing,  and  something  in  it 
makes  it  want  to  move.  It  has  no  legs 
to  go  on,  but  its  body  is  most  convenient, 
being  a  speck  of  protoplasm,  all  parts  of 
which  are  alike  endowed  with  the  power 
to^serve  every  purpose.  Thus,  when  it 
would  move,  it  protrudes  a  finger- 
like  bit  of  its  body,  like  a  feeler; 
the  rest  of  the  body  gradually 
flows  along  until  it  has  caught  up 
to  the  advanced  part,  or  if  the 
^^J* creature  is  minded  to  go  yet  farther, 
another  finger-like  part  is. 


^S 


The  World's  Cradle.  113 

advanced  like  the  first  to  tempt  the  main 
part  on.  Being  an  animal,  the  moneron 
must  eat.  This  it  does  by  enfolding  its 
body  substance  about  the  bit  of  matter 
it  is  to  consume.  This  body,  though  it 
seems  but  a  speck  of  jelly,  attracts  all  of 
the  nutritious  matter  from  the  speck  it 
has  encased,  and  this  done,  flows  away 
and  leaves  the  rest. 

The  moneron  would  have  a  child.  It 
contracts  through  the  middle,  and  con- 
tinues to  contract  until  there  is  no  middle 
left.  The  moneron  has  thus  divided  into 
two  parts, — made  two  monera  of  itself, 
though  which  is  parent  and  which  is 
child  is  an  unanswerable  question.  In  the 
picture  we  see  the  upper  moneron  putting 
out  a  finger-like  process  to  the  left.  Just 
below  it  is  a  moneron  dividing  into  two 
monera.  Next  below  we  see  the  division 
complete,  and  after  that  the  monera  assum- 
ing all  sorts  ^ of  rather  regular  forms, 


ii4  A  Song  of  Life. 

somewhat  more  regular  than  usual,  as  they 
are  desirous  of  forming  a  pleasing  decora- 
tion of  themselves. 

Although  the  moneron  is  an  example  of 
a  single  cell  conducting  itself  as  an  inde- 
pendent animal,  the  cell  is  usually  only 
one  infinitesimal  part  of  the  whole  animal 
or  plant.  It  is  generally  supplied  with  a 
wall,  and  is  usually  very  small, —  often  so 
small  that,  like  the  moneron,  it  can  be 
seen  only  with  a  microscope.  The  yelk 
of  the  hen's  egg  is  therefore  a  very  large 
cell.  The  tiny  living  bodies  in  the  pollen 
and  in  the  fertilizing  fluid  are  small  cells, 
and  their  shapes  are  often  wonderful.  In 
fact  the  cell  assumes  a  special  form  for 
each  kind  of  tissue,  and  under  the  micro- 
scope may  be  recognized  as  the  irregular 
nerve  cell,  the  spherical  fat  cell,  the  hex- 
agonal pigment  cell,  or  whatever  it  may 
be;  and  with  the  connecting  tissues  in 
which  it  embeds  itself  forms  very  wonder- 
ful and  beautiful  combinations,  in  both 


The  World's  Cradle.  115 

form  and  color.  Believing  that  the  inter- 
est felt  by  many  young  people  in  the 
beauties  revealed  by  the  microscope  is 
greater  than  their  knowledge  of  micro- 
scopic facts,  the  animal  cells  have  planned 
to  place  themselves  in  an  attractive  form 
before  the  readers  of  these  pages.  They 
accordingly  present  themselves  in  their  mi- 
croscopic shapes,  accommodatingly  lending 
themselves  to  the  purposes  of  decoration 
by  forming  groups  in  pretty  conventional 
designs. 

We  remember  that  the  yelk  of  the  egg 
is  composed  of  protoplasm,  oil,  and  other 
materials.  The  protoplasm  may  be  mixed 
uniformly  through  the  yelk;  or,  as  is  the 
case  in  the  eggs  of  some  animals,  the 
protoplasm  may  be  collected  in  one  part 
of  the  yelk,  the  rest  of  the  yelk  being 
composed  of  the  oils  and  other  materials. 
As  soon  as  an  egg  has  been  fertilized  its 
protoplasm  suddenly  wakens  to  the  fact 
that  it  is  alive  and  has  work  to  do.  It  is 


n6 


A  Song  of  Life. 


stirred  with  a  desire  to  become  a  trout, 
or  a  frog,  or  a  robin,  or  whatever  creature 
its  parent  may  be.  But  what  can  it  do? 
It  is  but  a  simple  jelly-like  speck,  —  a  liv- 
ing speck,  however,  and  one  bent  upon 
becoming  more  complex;  so  it  performs 
a  simple  act,  as  befitting  so  simple  a  crea- 
ture,—  it  imitates  the  moneron  and  divides 
into  two  parts.  Its  division,  however, 
does  not  make  of  it  two  creatures  equally 
simple;  it  remains  one  creature  still,  but 
a  less  simple  one.  It  has  taken  the  first 
step  in  the  life-changes  that  convert  an 
egg  into  an  animal. 

This  division  into  two  parts  is  the 
triumphant  departure  from  formless  matter 
to  complex  life.  Is  not  a  creature  com- 
•f.  posed  of  two  parts  twice  as  complex 

X  as  a  creature  composed  of       |7\  \ 


The  World's  Cradle. 


117 


one?  it  seems  to  ask.  Where  the  proto- 
plasm is  mixed  uniformly  through  the 
yelk,  at  the  moment  of  division  the  whole 
yelk  divides  into  two  parts.  The  proto- 
plasm has  heard  a  voice  it  must  obey ;  the 
fat  and  other  matters  are  so  thoroughly 
mixed  with  it  that  it  cannot  separate  itself 
from  them,  so  at  its  moment  of  division 
it  carries  all  with  it,  and  thus  the  whole 
yelk  divides  into  two  yelks.  Where,  how- 
ever, the  protoplasm  is  collected  by  itself 
in  one  part  of  the  yelk,  the  protoplasm 
divides  into  two  parts,  leaving  a  portion  of 
the  yelk  still  unchanged.  This  unchanged 
portion  afterward  serves  for  food,  and  is 
absorbed  into  the  body  of  the  animal  as 
it  grows. 

The  two  parts  formed  by  division  of  ^ 
s/  Vi  2  the   protoplasm   have 


A  Song  of  Life. 


rounded  corners.  They  have  become  two 
perfect  cells.  And  in  these  active 
cells  we  have  all  that  is  necessary  to 
make  the  most  complicated  animal  in 
the  world  —  for  man  himself  is  made  of 
cells  of  protoplasm.  Each  cell  has  mys- 
teriously impressed  upon  it  an  ideal  to- 
ward which  it  must  strive.  The  future 
animal  lies  all  unformed,  a  shapeless  some- 
thing which  is  to  take  a  definite  form. 
Of  all  the  forms  possible  to  animal  life, 
but  one  form  is  possible  to  it,  —  the  form 
of  its  parent.  Its  cells  foresee  this  form, 
yand  every  tiny  one  of  them  disposes  of 
itself  in  the  one  way  that  will  result  in 
that  form.  This  they  do  in  obedience 
to,,  a  law  as  mysterious  as  the  law  that 
holds  the  planets  in  their  courses. 
Fairly  aroused,  the  cells,  with  food  for 
their  nourishment  and  with  right  sur- 
roundings, grow  and  form  other  cells, 
until  the  ^  egg  has  fulfilled  its  pos- 
sibilities and  become  a 
living  being. 


The  World's  Cradle.  119 

At  the  beginning  the  cell  seems  to  do 
nothing  but  divide,  for  we  are  hardly  sure 
the  protoplasm  has  divided  into  two  parts 
before  we  discover  it  has  divided  into 
four.  Each  of  these  four  cells  divides ;  the 
new  cells  so  produced  divide ;  and  so  on 
until  the  original  yelk  mass  has  lost  its 
smooth,  oily  nature  and  become  a  much 
firmer  mass  of  tiny  cells.  These  little  cells 
which  we  have  seen  formed  crowd  close 
together,  and  finally  flatten  out  against  the 
yelk  wall,  where  they  adhere  to  each  other 
by  their  edges  and  form  its  inside  lin-  /£jj%£\ 
ing.  This  lining,  which  we  must  (| 
not  forget  was  once  the  yelk  and  is 
now  a  layer  of  cells,  is  called  the  blasto- 
dermic  membrane;  and  we  can  forgive  its 
long  name  when  we  learn  that  it  is  now 
the  body  of  the  embryo,  as  the  animal  in 
these  early  stages  is  called. 

It  is  no  longer  a  formless  mass,  but 
a  true  living  animal.  Its  cells  have  not, 
moneron-like,  divided  into  a  number  of 


120  A  Song  of  Life. 

separate  creatures,  they  have  formed  a  little 
community  in  which  each  cell  has  its  own 
special  work  to  do.  The  moneron  cell 
is  a  savage,  —  it  must  do  everything  for 
itself.  It  must,  as  it  were,  be  its  own 
cook,  shoemaker,  tailor,  hunter,  and  all 
else.  Consequently  its  life  is  very  simple; 
for  the  savage,  being  obliged  to  do  every- 
thing for  himself,  cannot  have  so  much 
as  the  civilized  man  who  does  one  thing 
well  and  quickly  and  exchanges  it  for 
some  other  person's  work,  or  who  acts  in 
combination  with  other  workers.  The 
egg-cell  is  highly  civilized,  each 
cell  having  its  own  work  to  do, 
and  each  cell  working  with 
reference  to  all  other  cells. 
Thus  the  animal,  when 
completed,  is  a 
great  and 
perfect 


The  World's  Cradle.  121 


community 
composed  of  more 
individuals  than  the  largest 
city  in  the  world  can  boast 
—  of.  And  so  well  is  the  gov- 
ernment of  this  great  commu- 
nity regulated  that  each  cell  is 
'an  expert  in  its  own  line,  and  is  satis- 
tied  with  its  station  in  life.  The  skin  cells 
are  satisfied  to  make  good  skin,  the  bone 
cells  to  make  good  bone ;  and  no  one  ever 
heard  of  the  cells  going  on  a  strike,  un- 
less that  is  what  they  do  when  the  body 
is  abused  and  the  cells  rebel,  and  then 
we  call  it  disease. 

But  in  the  embryo  stage,  while  the  cells 
rule,  and  before  the  completed  animal  tries 
to  rule  —  or  overrule  —  their  good  action, 
the  cells  all  do  happily  and  well  their 
own  work.  Although  the  cells  that  flatten 
themselves  against  the  yelk-wall  are  the 


122  A  Song  of  Life. 

earliest  form  of  the  young  animal,  it  is  in 
that  state  so  immature  that  we  no  more 
recognize  in  it  an  animal  of  any  kind  than 
we  recognize  a  frog  in  a  tadpole,  unless 
we  have  watched  a  tadpole  change  into 
a  frog,  as  we  are  now  about  to  watch 
the  blastodermic  membrane  change  into 
an  animal. 

What  is  it  to  become?  a  fish?  a  frog? 
a  child?  That  we  do  not  know;  for 
up  to  the  present  stage  of  transformation 
fish,  frog,  child,  or  any  other  high  form 
of  animal  life  must  travel  the  same  road. 
In  all  alike  the  protoplasm  must  change 
to  cells  and  the  cells  must  form  the  blas- 
todermic membrane.  Although  up  to  a 
certain  period  the  first  simple  changes  in 
the  eggs  of  all  animals  are  so  alike  that  it 
seems  as  though  the  egg  might  as  easily 
become  one  thing  as  another,  yet  the  seal 
of  the  parent  is  somewhere  set  upon  the 
budding  life  and  impels  it  to  assume  the 
one  form.  Michelet,  speaking  of  the  de- 


The  World's  Cradle.  123 

velopment  of  the  young  bird,  has  beau- 
tifully expressed  the  parental  prompting 
which  moulds  the  form  in  the  egg  of 
every  creature:  — 

"  But  see  how,  in  this  divine  sleep,  it 
has  recognized  its  mother  and  her  mag- 
netic warmth.  And  it,  too,  begins  to 
dream.  Its  dream  is  of  motion ;  it  imi- 
tates, it  conforms  to  its  mother;  its  first 
act,  the  act  of  an  obscure  love,  is  to  re- 
semble her." 

Though  the  creature  is  now  but  a  layer 
of  cells,  yet  in  that  simple  form  is  some- 
where hidden  the  "obscure  love"  which 
prompts  it  to  grow  to  the  likeness  of  its 
parent.  And  after  a  time  the  being  hid- 
den in  the  blastodermic  membrane  of  each 
egg  asserts  itself.  It  is  no  longer  content 
to  remain  in  a  state  common  to  all  ani- 
mals. It  begins  to  express  its  obedience 
to  the  law  of  heredity;  it  is  about  to 
resemble  its  parents.  And  since  the  blas- 
todermic membrane  is  about  to  disclose 


124  -A  Song  of  Life. 

itself,  to  show  what  definite  creature  it 
has  been  meditating  during  these  early 
obscure  changes,  —  whether  a  tadpole,  a 
robin,  a  rabbit,  — it  will  be  well  for  us  to 
fix  our  whole  attention  upon  the  blasto- 
dermic  membrane  of  one  egg,  and  watch 
it  reveal  its  secret.  We  select  an  egg  in 
which  this  membrane  has  just  formed. 
As  we  watch  it,  it  divides  into  two  lay- 
ers, thus  providing  the  yelk-wall  with  a 
double  lining,  the  outer  and  inner  layers 
of  the  blastodermic  membrane,  and  supply- 
ing itself  with  two  corps  of  workers,  each 
corps  fitted  to  a  special  kind  of  work.* 
Each  layer  is  formed  of  cells.  The  cells 
that  make  the  outer  layer  (a)  are  small 
and  close  together,  and  build  up  the 


*  As  a  matter  of  fact  the  blastodermic  membrane  has  formed 
still  another  layer  between  the  outer  and  inner  layers.  This 
middle  layer  has  again  divided  into  two  layers.  But  as  the  mid- 
dle layers  are  formed  from  the  outer  and  inner  layers  and  share 
their  work  with  them,  we  will  not  give  the  inner  layers  any  atten- 
tion,—for  simplicity's  sake  speaking  only  of  the  outer  and  inner 
layers. 


The  World's  Cradle.  125 

denser  parts  of  the  animal,  such  as  skin, 
bone,  muscle.  Those  that  make  the 
inner  layer  (b)  are  larger  and  looser, 
and  build  up  the  less  dense  parts 
of  the  animal,  such  as  the  intestines;  c 
in  the  diagram  is  the  unchanged  yelk, 
which  is  to  form  food  for  the  embryo. 

The  cells  build  and  we  watch.  But 
what  a  disappointment  is  here!  Our  em- 
bryo is  only  that  of  a  worm!  We  are 
well  acquainted  with  the  development  of 
a  certain  primitive  form  of  sea-worm,  and 
here  it  is.  We  are  about  to  turn  away 
from  the  microscope  through  which  we 
have  been  gazing,  when  we  notice  that 
one  point  in  the  outer  layer  of  the  blasto- 
dermic  membrane,  that  which  forms  the 
outer  covering  to  our  forming  worm,  be- 
gins to  thicken.  We  see  the  cells  at  that 
point  dividing  very  fast  and  crowding 
close  together  about  a  certain  oval  space, 
until  two  ridges  are  formed  which  rise  up 
on  each  side  of  the  space  and  meet  over- 


i26  A  Song  of  Life. 

head,  forming  a  hollow  canal.  And  now 
we  know  that  the  cells  have  not  designed 
a  worm,  for  a  worm  has  no  brain,  and 
this  hollow  canal  is  the  first  step  toward 
what  will  one  day  be  a  spinal  cord  and 
brain. 

The  cells  would  have  stopped  building, 
and  finished  the  creature  into  a  worm, 
had  it  not  been  for  that  parent  form 
which  urged  them  to  itself,  and  toward 
which  they  loyally  pushed.  And  so,  blind 
to  every  other  form  of  life,  the  cells  work 
on, — those  already  formed  grow  and  divide 
into  other  cells,  and  these  in  turn  grow 
and  divide,  and  so  on  and  on.  Each  kind 
of  cell  has,  as  we  know,  its  own  shape. 
Each  unerringly  fits  into  its  own  place 
and  does  its  own  work. 

We  see  the  tiny  cells  swiftly  forming 
along  that  line  of  the  spinal 
8  f»  f  " a,  COI"d-  We  see  other  ^  cells  ff 


The  World's  Cradle.  127 

different  places,  cell  joining  cell,  forming 
mysterious  little  points  and  projections. 
O  cells,  who  tells  you  what  to  do?  In 
your  dark  little  house  how  do  you  know, 
each  one  of  you,  just  the  one  form, 
out  of  numberless  possible  forms,  which 
you  are  to  take?  How  do  you  know  just 
the  one  spot  which  you  are  to  occupy  in 
that  confused  something  which  is  forming 
there?  O  cells,  tell  us  of  the  Power  back 
of  you,  which  we  value  more  than  all 
your  work ! 

But  the  cells  silently,  swiftly  take  their 
places,  forming  a  more  and  more  compli- 
cated-looking object,  which  we 
here  see  as  it  was  once  seen  by 
a  great  man,  after  he  had  spent 
many  hours  working  with  the  mi 
croscope,  for  the  object  we  are  watching 
is  so  small  that  it  is  invisible  without  the 
aid  of  the  microscope.  It  seems  meaning- 
less at  a  first  glance ;  at  a,  b,  c,  are  the 
cells  which  have  grouped  themselves  to 


128 


A  Song  of  Life. 


form  the  beginning  of  the  spinal  cord. 
We  see  there  a  tube,  the  walls  of  which 
are  formed  by  cells  which  will  one  day 
grow  into  the  brain  and  spinal  cord. 
Curving  around  at  a  is  what  will  be  the 
head,  with  the  upper  end  of  the  spinal 
cord  enlarged  into  the  brain.  The  space 
below,  d,  is  where  the  digestive  canal  will 
finally  be  formed,  and  in  e,  below  that, 
we  can  readily  distinguish  the  enlarged 
abdomen.  In  fact,  it  requires  but  little 
imagination  to  transform  the  part  at  a 
into  the  head,  to  see  legs  budding  at  the 
opposite  ends  of  e,  or  wings  from  one 
end  and  legs  from  the  other,  or  fins  from 
both  ends  instead  of  legs  or  wings. 
We  can  easily  transform,  in  imagina- 
tion, that  primitive  form  into  any  ani- 
mal we  please  to  make  it.  And  yet 
the  only  thing  \  its  form 
so  far  has  \  /  really 


The  World's  Cradle.  129 

told  us  is  that  it  is  to  have  a  spinal  canal 
and  brain.  We  are  sure,  therefore,  that  it 
will  not  be  a  clam  or  a  fly  or  a  worm ; 
and  were  it  not  for  its  size  —  which  tells 
part  of  the  secret,  for  our  egg  is  too  large 
to  belong  to  a  mammal  —  we  would  not 
know  to  which  class  of  back-boned  ani- 
mals it  belongs,  and  might  well  hesitate 
to  give  an  opinion  as  to  whether  it  is 
destined  to  become  a  lizard  or  a  kitten. 
Meanwhile  the  cells,  relentless  as  fate,  are 
building  the  future  animal.  The  creature 
they  are  forming  passes  through  many 
stages  similar  to  those  passed  through  by 
the  embryos  of  other  animals,  yet  is  its 
destination  as  certain  as  though  no  other 
creature  ever  travelled  that  road.  The  road 
of  development  ends  in  the  highest  form 
of  animal  life,  even  man ;  yet,  unless  the 
parent  of  this  creature  is  man  it  will  / 
not  go  to  the  end  of  the  road, 


1 3o 


A  Song  of  Life. 


but  will  finally  reach  a  side  path  leading 
to  its  own  parent  form,  and  down  this 
path  it  must  turn.  To  pass  the  entrance 
to  that  pathway  and  go  even  one  step 
beyond  is  as  impossible  for  it  as  it  would 
be  for  the  sun  to  change  its  course.  If 
it  will  not  enter  that  path  it  must  die. 
Its  life  is  to  be  found  there  and  there 
only. 

The  cells  are  as  loyal  to  their  caste  as 
were   the   ancient   Hindus.     The   cells   of 
the  fish  do  not  aspire  to  form  a  bird,  their 
only  desire  is  to   make  a   perfect   fish. 
Their  highest  ideal  is  the  fish.       v 
And  the  cells  we  have  been    fl 


watching,  still  intent  yupon, 

the  creat  v  ure 
j  they  are 
(J  forming, 

T 


The  World's  Cradle.  131 

busily  grow  and  divide,  grouping  them- 
selves about  and  below  the  embryo,  until 
they  have  formed  a  body-wall  quite  around 
it  Here  is  a  side  view,  —  a,  b,  c  re- 
presenting  the  back  of  the  embryo. 
That  which  we  now  see  is  the  work  done 
by  the  cells  in  the  outer  layer  of  the  blas- 
todermic  membrane.  These  cells  continue 
to  group  themselves,  forming  muscles  and 
skin  and  bone;  and  now  behold  our  mys- 
terious animal  with  a  tail!  Cell  after  cell 
builds  itself  into  the  forming  body 
~"?  until  we  are  at  last  sure  that 

//  .--^iS^*^ 

an  animal  which  we  can  recognize  is 
coming.  Here  he  is  beyond  a  doubt,  — the 
most  interesting  baby  frog,  or  tad- 
pole, as  he  prefers  to  be  called,  that 
our  eyes  ever  beheld;  for  have  we 
not  seen  him  grow  up,  cell  by  cell,  from 
the  very  foundation  ? 

But  what  have  the  cells  of  the  inner 
layer  of  the  blastodermic  membrane  been 
doing  all  this  time  ?  Have  they  forgotten 


132  A  Song  of  Life. 

their  work?  If  we  recall  the  way  our 
animal  was  last  represented  we  find  there 
is  a  very  important  work  still  to  be  done; 
for  the  outer  layer  of  the  blastodermic 
membrane,  which  thus  far  has  occupied 
all  our  attention,  has  made  only  the  outer 
parts  of  the  embryo.  Our  tadpole  has  a 
back-bone  and  a  brain,  it  is  true;  he  has 
skin,  too,  and  muscles  and  eyes  and  ears, 
and  is  a  very  satisfactory  tadpole  —  to  look 
at;  but  when  he  leaves  the  egg  what  is 
to  become  of  him  without  a  stomach? 
And  what  will  he  do  without  a  heart,  and 
without  lungs  and  kidneys  and  liver,  and 
all  those  organs  necessary  to  an  animal 
whose  food  is  no  longer  a  part  of  him? 
We  have  been  so  intently  watching  the 
outer  layer  of  the  blastodermic  membrane 
make  the  outside  of  the  embryo,  that  we 
have  failed  to  notice  how  the  inner  layer 
was  just  as  silently  and  surely  -forming 
cells  in  exact  places  to  form  the  internal 
organs  of  the  creature.  Let  us  look  again 


The  World's  Cradle.  133 

at  our  tadpole,  and  do  justice  to  the  work 
the  inner  layer  has  done,  and  we  shall 
find  that  he  has  a  stomach.  It  has  been 
building  cell  by  cell  from  the  inner  layer, 
while  the  skin,  skeleton,  and  other  organs 
were  building  from  the  outer  layer. 

At  first  his  stomach  was  so  large  as  to 
fill  nearly  the  whole  abdominal  cavity,  and 
he  had  no  mouth  for  receiving  food;  and 
if  he  had  had  one  it  would  have  availed 
him  little,  for  there  was  no  opening  at 
the  other  end  of  the  digestive  canal  for 
the  escape  of  food  refuse.  But  the  cells 
were  equal  to  this  emergency,  for  some  of 
those  in  the  outer  layer  of  the  blastoder- 
mic  membrane  died  away  and  left  an 
opening  at  either  end  of  the  digestive 
canal,  and  the  digestive 
canal  itself  grew  so  long 
from  the  addition  of  cells 
from  the  inner  layer  of  the  blastodermic 
membrane  that  it  could  not  lie  straight 
but  had  to  curl  up.  Moreover,  cells  from 


134  A  Song  of  Life. 

the  inner  layer  of  the  blastodermic  mem- 
brane built  themselves  into  a  heart  and 
blood-vessels,  and  into  the  other  organs 
necessary  to  tadpole  life;  and  here  is  our 
tadpole,  ^out  of  his  egg  and  swimming^ 
about  in  \  the  water. 


His  transformation  is,  however,  not  yet 
complete,  for  he  is  now  in  the  fish  stage. 
He  is,  in  reality,  a  fish,  swimming  with  a 
tail  and  breathing  by  gills.  He  must  go 
one  step  farther,  —  get  lungs  and  legs  and 
become  a  land  animal.  Such  changes  in 
other  animals  take  place  in  the  egg,  but 
with  the  tadpole  the  last  great  transforma- 
tion takes  place  after  he  leaves  the  egg. 
The  cells,  still  active  within  him,  have 
already  built  the  beginnings  of  lungs  and 
legs;  and  before  long,  as  every  one  knows 


The  World's  Cradle.  135 

who  has  watched  a  tadpole  change  into  a 
frog,  the  legs  come  out,  —  first  the  hind- 
legs,  then  the  fore-legs.    At  the  same  time 
9   the  tail  and  gills  shrink  away,  the  lungs 
J  form  cell  by  cell,  until  finally  tail  and  gills 
are  quite  gone,  legs  and  lungs  are  fully 
formed,    and    the    tadpole    is    transformed 
from  a  fish  into  a  frog. 
p       And   now   have  we   the   secret   of  the 
blastodermic  membrane  in  the' frog's  egg? 
No  more  than  we  have  the  secret  of  the 
artist  when  we  watch  him  put  his  crea- 
'        tions  on  canvas.     We  see  the  work 
done  by  the  cells,  —  we  may  even 
v  -      see   the   cells   at   work;    but  why 
f    ~  one  forms  bone,  another  muscle,  an- 

^  fflV  ot^er  kram>  or  now  tne  different  cells 
^V  <\    change  to  form  the  different  tissues, 
^\J    we  do  not  know.    The  outer  life  ^v 
of  the     cells  we  can   follow;  their  inner     4 
life  is  their  own  secret,    /y 

*/  /    1    ¥   \  /~G?^ 

1    f 


136  A  Song  of  Life. 

Wherever  we  examine  the  developing 
egg  we  find  it  travelling  the  same  high- 
road as  that  travelled  by  the  tadpole.  The 
changes  in  the  fish's  egg  are  so  like  those 
in  the  frog's  egg  that  the  wonder  is  they 
ever  find  out  which  they  are  to  become. 
In  some  fish  eggs  the  blastodermic  mem- 
brane does  not  close  closely  about  the 
body  of  the  embryo,  as  it  does  in  the 
frog,  but  hangs  loosely  in  a  sac  which  is 
filled  with  the  food-yelk,  so  that  this  yelk 
[s  partly  inside  the  fish  and  partly  outside, 
as  you  can  see  in  any  stream  in 
the  springtime  where  fish  eggs  are 
hatching.  This  yelk  is  gradually  absorbed 
into  the  body,  and  affords  nourishment  for 
the  young  fish  until  he  is  able  to  provide 
food  for  himself.  This  failure  of  the  blas- 
todermic membrane  to  enclose  the  yelk, 
and  the  consequent  forming  of  the  yelk 
sac,  is  common  in  all  the  higher  forms  of 
egg  development. 

And  now  for  the  mystery  of  higher  life. 


The  World's  Cradle.  137 

If  we  watch  the  transformation  of  the 
bird's  egg,  we  see  it  first  pass  through 
changes  similar  to  those  early  ones  passed 
through  by  the  eggs  of  the  fish  and  the 
frog ;  and  as  though  that  were  not  strange 
enough,  we  are  filled  with  wonder  to  find 
that  the  creature  forming  in  the  bird's  egg 
shows  gill  openings.  Surely  this  egg  has 
made  a  mistake,  and  is  about  to  develop 
into  a  monstrous  fish !  But  no.  The  cells 
know  well  that  this  egg  cannot  become  a 
fish ;  they  but  do  a  moment's  homage  to 
the  humble  ancestors  of  the  bright  form 
they  are  about  to  perfect.  "Once,  way, 
way  back  in  the  world's  history,"  they 
seem  to  say,  "  in  those  ancient  times  when 
change  was  possible,  there  were  no  birds; 
there  were  only  fish-like  creatures  which 
were  like  birds  and  like  fish,  and  from 
whom  our  pretty  bird's  ancestors  were 
descended ;  and  we  would  not  have  him, 
in  his  pride  of  flight,  forget  his  relation- 
ship to  these  humble  creatures." 


138  A  Song  of  Life. 

And  so  the  cells  build  the  old  ancestral 
fish  form  as  a  foundation  for  the  higher 
bird  form,  knowing  that  these  gill  open- 
ings are  the  best  beginnings  for  beak  and 
other  bird  parts;  and  that  the  cells  of  the 
outer  layer  of  the  blastodermic  membrane 
can  conduct  the  easily  guided  form  safely 
past  the  fish  stage,  while  the  inner  layer 
can  as  safely  conduct  the  internal  organs 
past  the  fish  stage,  —  moulding  the  air- 
bladder  into  lungs,  dividing  the  heart  into 
four  chambers  instead  of  leaving  it  in 
two,  and  attending  to  the  numerous  other 
details  that  separate  the  structure  of  the 
bird  from  that  of  the  fish.  Thus  we  see 
how,  as  the  egg  develops,  a  time  comes 
when  the  little  creature  seems  on  the 
verge  of  becoming  a  fish.  It  is  more  like 
a  fish  than  anything  else.  Why  does  it 
not  stop  there  and  finish  into  a  fish  ?  An 
"obscure  love"  hurries  it  on,  —  gives  it 
life  and  strength  to  pass  the  road  down 
which  the  fish  must  turn.  Its  vitality  is 


The  World's  Cradle. 


too  great  to  be  compressed  into  the  limits 
of  fish  life ;  it  must  go  on  until  it  finds 
its  parent. 

In  anticipation  of  the  greater  work  to  be 
done  by  the  bird  embryo,  the  bird's  egg 
was  more  carefully  fertilized  and  guarded 
than  were  the  eggs  of  frog  and  fish.  We 
now  see  how  much  more  work  the  egg- 
cells  must  do  to  complete  the  bird.  The 
following  series  of  pictures  shows  some 
of  the  successive  changes  that  appear  in 
the  bird's  egg. 


140  A  Song  of  Life. 

If  the  egg  belongs  to  a  creature  still 
higher  in  the  scale  of  animal  life  than 
do  those  eggs  we  have  watched,  we  find 
it  going  through  the  same  changes,  and 
its  embryo  developing  through  stage  after 
stage  similar  to  those  passed  through  by 
the  animals  below  it.  The  mammal  begins 
life  as  one  cell,  like  the  lowly  moneron. 
Impressed  with  the  desire  to  grow,  it 
becomes  a  creature  like  the  worm.  It 
scarcely  pauses  at  that  point,  however, 
there  is  such  a  powerful  impulse  hurrying 
it  along  the  high-road  of  life.  It  passes 
stage  after  stage  in  quick  succession ;  it 
has  the  gill  openings  that  belong  to  the 
embryo  of  the  fish,  but  it  has  the  life  of 
the  mammal,  — it  must  become  a  cat,  a 
horse,  a  dog;  and  so  its  gill  openings  be- 
come the  foundation  of  the  lower  jaw 
and  ear.  Each  embryo,  intent  upon  its 
own  form,  hastens  toward  the  goal;  each 
acquires  by  degrees  the  organs  peculiar  to 
its  kind. 


Tbe  World's  Cradle.  141 

Although  all  are  mammals,  and  all  are 
built  on  the  same  general  plan,  the  cells 
of  each  know  exactly  where  that  plan  is 
to  be  modified.  The  cells  of  the  rabbit 
never  fail  to  make  long  hind  legs,  and 
teeth  suitable  for  gnawing.  The  cells  of 
the  dog  never  fail  to  make  teeth  sharp 
and  strong,  and  of  the  peculiar  shape  and 
size  that  characterize  flesh-eating  animals. 
More  than  this,  every  cell  in  the  rabbit  is 
a  rabbit  cell,  and  every  cell  in  the  dog  is 
a  dog  cell, —  each  kind  making  hide,  hair, 
form,  intellect,  everything  about  its  own 
animal  characteristic  of  rabbit  or  dog,  and 
different  from  every  other  animal. 

And  the  human  being,  too,  begins  life 
as  a  single  cell.  He,  too,  passes  through 
stage  after  stage  of  animal  life,  owning  a 
far-away  relationship  to  the  simple  crea- 
tures he  so  far  outstrips.  Gill  openings 

convict   him,  too,  of   kinship  with   the 
fishes;  and  he  passes  through 
a  stage  where,  from  one 


142 


A  Song  of  Life. 


point  of  view,  he  looks  absurdly  like  the 
embryo  of  a  fish.  But  the  strong  wave 
of  life  bears  him  speedily  past  that  point, 
and  carries  .him  toward  the  plane  of  the 
mammal.  And  for  a  time  we  find  him  in 
a  very  unsatisfactory  state,  neither  bird  nor 
yet  beast;  though  with  his  undeveloped 
heart  and  budding  extremities  he  more 
resembles  the  young  bird  than  any  other 
animal.  On  he  sweeps  to  the  true  mam- 
malian form,  and  there  passes  through  a 
stage  which  all  mammals  share  with  him. 
Here  he  cannot  be  distinguished  from  an 
embryo  pig  or  dog.  But  he  does  not 
long  continue  to  so  closely  resemble  these 
lower  forms ;  his  cells  work  away  in  a  dis- 
tinctly human  direction,  so  that  from  \ 
being  indistinguishable  from  a  dog  he  JJ 
becomes  indistinguishable  from  an  x/Av,Jf 

ape ;  but  even  here  the  cells  ne\ver 
make  a     /V^     mistake, 

~^A 


The  World's  Cradle.  143 

never  grow  confused  and  finish  him  into 
an  ape,  but  keep  steadily  at  work  until  he 
is  built  into  a  human  being. 

When  his  form  is  sufficiently  developed, 
he,  like  other  mammals,  is  born.  This 
does  not  mean  that  his  cells  have  accom- 
plished their  work.  Far  from  it,  —  his 
cells  are  as  busy  as  ever.  They  fasten 
upon  the  milk  he  drinks  and  form  it  into 
themselves;  the  muscle  cells  turn  it  into 
muscle,  the  bone  cells  into  bone,  the 
brain  cells  into  brain.  Later,  when  he 
eats  solid  food,  the  cells  seize  upon  that. 
His  blood  carries  his  food  in  a  dissolved 
Estate,  d/issollved  by  the  work  of  certain 
cells,  all  over  his  body.  It 
flows  everywhere,  touch- 
ing  every  spot ;  and  as  it  flows 


seize/  upon    whatever 
they  want, 


144  A  Song  of  Life. 

to  make  new  tissue  or  replace  that  which 
is  worn  out. 

Thus  the  body  is  dependent  upon  the 
cells  as  long  as  it  lives.  When  the  cells 
cease  their  work  the  body  is  dead.  The 
cells  are  dependent  upon  the  food  they 
get  for  the  kind  of  work  they  can  do. 
At  first  milk  supplies  all  that  is  needful; 
then  comes  a  more  varied  diet,  —  vegeta- 
bles, fruits,  grains,  and  meats  being  taxed 
to  supply  the  never-ceasing  cry  of  the 
cells  for  food.  Nerve  cells  in  the  mouth 
and  nose  test  this  food  and  decide  upon 
its  merit.. 

But  these  nerve  cells  are  better  pleased 
with  some  things  than  others;  the  nerve 
of  taste  rejoices  in  sugar  and  certain  com- 
binations of  flour  and  butter  called  pastry, 
and  certain  stimulating  spices.  To  a  lim- 
ited extent  such  food  is  proper;  but  be- 
cause it  "tastes  good"  the  ignorant  feeder 
eats  it  to  the  exclusion  of  other  foods 
which  are  more  digestible,  —  and  finally 


The  World's  Cradle.  145 

the  cells  of  the  stomach,  overworked  and 
weak,  refuse  to  dispose  of  the  indigestible 
stuff.  Although  warned  by  the  uncom- 
fortable feeling  caused  by  the  rebellious 
cells,  the  victim  sometimes  continues  to 
transgress. 

What  is  the  result?  The  cells  refuse  to 
do  their  work ;  they  grow  sullen  and  irri- 
table ;  and  the  food  in  an  undigested  state 
is  turned  out  of  the  stomach.  The  blood 
cannot  get  the  materials  that  it  needs  for 
this  ill-prepared  food,  and  of  course  the 
cells  cannot  get  what  they  need  from  the 
blood.  Some  of  the  cells  starve  to  death ; 
others  do  their  best,  but  the  tissue  they 
build  is  weak  and  flabby.  Others  again, 
not  able  to  build  what  they  wish,  take  the 
poor  material  and  build  another  kind  of 
tissue,  which  being  unnatural,  does  all 
sorts  of  mischief  in  the  body.  All  of  the 
cells  are  discontented  and  sick,  and  allow 
the  gferms  of  foul  diseases  to  lodge  in 
their  midst,  if  such  germs  appear  and 


146  A  Song  of  Life. 

ask  admission.  The  brain  cells,  being 
poorly  nourished,  are  irritable,  and  cause 
all  sorts  of  suffering  in  the  way  of  head- 
ache and  nervousness  to  the  victim.  The 
skin  cells  do  not  trouble  to  build  up  good 
skin ;  but  when  the  old  falls  off,  there  is  a 
bare  and  sore  spot  underneath. 

Everything  seems  out  of  order,  and  the 
victim  of  this  careless  treatment  of  the 
cells  is  told  by  the  doctor  that  he  has 
dyspepsia;  and  he  thinks  dyspepsia  is  a 
stomach  trouble,  when  it  is  really  the  star- 
vation of  the  cells  all  over  his  body.  The 
cells,  like  the  people  they  are  a  part  of, 
form  habits.  When  the  stomach  cells  have 
formed  a  habit  of  not  performing  the 
work  of  digestion,  this  habit  grows  upon 
them;  so  while  the  young  person  may 
not  suffer  seriously  from  a  careless  habit 
of  eating,  he  is  laying  up  terrible  trouble 
for  future  years. 

The  use  of  tobacco  has  a  curious  effect 
upon  the  cells  of  the  body.  The  nerve 


The  World's  Cradle.  147 

cells  feel  it  first.  When  tobacco  is  first 
smoked  to  excess  the  cells  resent  it  with 
all  their  might.  The  stomach  cells  often 
become  violent  and  force  the  contents  of 
the  stomach  out  through  the  mouth,  but 
after  a  while  the  cells  become  demoralized ; 
the  overdoses  of  tobacco  deaden  them  and 
thus  relieve  the  discomfort  at  first  caused. 
This  is  probably  the  reason  they  seem 
to  crave  it.  They  want  the  thing  that 
poisoned  them  to  poison  them  more,  and 
so  deaden  their  discomfort. 

Tobacco  is  very  irritating  to  some  cells, 
while  it  is  soothing,  or  deadening,  to 
others;  and  so,  when  used  to  excess,  it 
sometimes  causes  incurable  ulcers  in  throat 
and  mouth.  The  cells,  finding  that  they 
cannot  make  good  mucous  membrane  in 
the  presence  of  tobacco  poison,  make  pus 
cells  instead.  The  senses  grow  less  acute 
under  the  influence  of  tobacco,  until  those 
of  taste  and  smell  are  dull,  and  the  victim 
can  no  longer  enjoy  the  odor  of  the  but- 


148  A  Song  of  Life. 

tercups  and  daisies  when  he  walks  in  the 
fields,  and  probably  comes  to  prefer  the 
stale  tobacco  odor  which  he  constantly 
carries  about  with  him  to  anything  the 
sweet  fields  can  offer. 

The  cells  of  the  body  are  very  sympa- 
thetic, as  we  thus  see.  Ready  to  do  good 
work  if  properly  treated,  they  are  very  apt 
to  unite  against  oppression  if  ill-treated; 
so  that  harm  done  to  even  a  few  cells 
will  often  affect  the  whole  body.  Of  all 
the  abuses  to  which  the  cells  are  subjected 
none  is  more  harmful  than  the  habit  some 
people  contract  of  poisoning  them  with 
alcohol.  At  first  the  alcohol  stimulates  cer- 
tain nerve  cells,  and  this  causes  a  feeling 
of  pleasure.  But  if  the  alcohol  has  been 
taken  in  excess  the  pleasurable  feeling 
soon  passes,  and  then  the  cells  are  weak 
and  weary.  Whenever  they  are  thus  over- 
excited an  abnormal  action  is  set  up. 
Like  the  cells  irritated  by  tobacco,  those 
poisoned  by  alcohol  crave  more  of  the 


The  World's  Cradle.  149 

poison  to  make  them  forget  their  discom- 
fort ;  so  the  victim  is  led  on  by  slow  but 
fatal  steps  until  his  cells  are  thoroughly 
demoralized  and  will  do  nothing  right. 
The  stomach  cells  refuse  to  act,  the  food 
is  not  properly  digested,  and  after  a  time 
the  inside  of  the  stomach  becomes  cov- 
ered with  sores.  The  cells  that  ought  to 
make  liver  go  to  making  fat  instead.  In 
fact,  the  cells  all  over  the  body  seem  to 

have  lost  all  moral  rectitude,  and  instead 

• 

of  building  up  sound  tissue,  take  a  drunk- 
en delight  in  converting  the  alcohol-satu- 
rated blood  that  comes  to  them  into  all 
sorts  of  abnormal  tissue;  until  finally  the 
victim  dies  of  some  terrible  disease  with 
which  his  wine  or  beer  drinking  had  ap- 
parently nothing  to  do,  but  which  was 
really  at  the  bottom  of  the  whole  trouble. 
And  what  do  we  mean  by  dying? 
What  is  this  thing  named  death?  What 
becomes  of  the  body  when  it  is  buried ; 
of  the  flower  when  it  falls;  of  the  plant 


A  Song  of  Life. 


when   it   has  done 
its  work? 
Walk  through 

the  forest   in  the  autumn ;   the  dry 
leaves   rustle   under   foot   and   we 
call  them  dead  leaves.     Could  we  watch 
these  same  leaves  from  year  to  year 
we   should   find   that    in   time  they 
disappear.    Where  are  they?    They 
are  fluttering,  green  and  full  of  sap, 
in  their  old  places  on  the  trees;   they 
are  breaking  out  into  the  white  bloom 
of  the  wild  plum ;  they  are  throbbing  in 
the  heart  of  the  wood-pigeon,  and 
painting  the  sky  with  sunset  colors. 

When  the  leaves  fell  it  seemed  a  mis-  y  £ 
fortune,  and  those  who  used  concerning 
them  the  dread  word  death  did  not  know 
that  they  had  but  completed  one  beautiful 
form   of  life,   and   become  free   to    enter 
into  another.    The  carbon,  hydrogen, 
oxygen,  nitrogen,  and  other  elements 
that    had   been   so   long   bound   into 


The  World's  Cradle. 


plant  protoplasm  let  go,  each  one,  its  hold 
upon  its  neighbor,  the  old  bond  was  dis- 
freed ele- 
formed  new 
combi- 
nations. 

Our  leaf  is  now 
a  quantity  of 
-  water,  ammonia,  dif- 
ferent forms  of  lime,  magnesia, 
potash,  soda,  acids  of  various  kinds,  and 
combinations  of  iron,  as  well  as  many 
other  substances.  Behold  our  leaf  returned 
to  the  mineral  kingdom.  Though  not 
wholly.  Certain  of  its  elements  enter  at 
once  into  lowly  forms  of  vegetable  life, 
which  are  lying  ready  to  seize  upon  them 
and  develop  waiting  spores  into  growing 
life;  and  still  others  find  their  way  at 
once  into  the  animal  life. 

The  leaf  now  finds  itself  in  a  myriad 
of  forms,  and  distributes  itself  through  life. 
The  ammonia,  the  ashes,  sink  into  the 


152 


A  Song  of  Life. 


ground,  and  are  wooed  by  the  rootlets  of 
the    forest    trees    to   ascend  'through   the 

branches 
Imd  unite  with 


tissue  in  the 
to  form  next£^^JP||iX  year's  leaves. 
The  rootlets  of  ***  the  wild  grape  eagerly 
seek  the  aid  of  these  wandering  leaf  ele- 
ments, that  its  branches  may  be  clothed 
with  verdure;  the  wild  rose  would  have 
a  share;  the  burdock,  too,  and  the  wood 
anemone  wish  to  attract  them ;  the  birds 
and  the  insects  appropriate  the  fruit  they 
have  gone  to  form;  their  vapor,  rising 
through  the  air  and  condensing  into  clouds, 
adorns  the  blue  sky  and  reflects  the  sunset 
hues. 

And  yet  men  talk  of  dead  leaves,  — call 
them  dead  because  they  would  leave  a  stiff 
triangle  of  wood  fibre  and  green  tissue  to 
mingle  with  the  universe ! 

Thus,  too,  with  the  bird.    One  day  it 


The  World's  Cradle.  153 

lies  down  and  rises  no  more,  and  men 
would  have  us  believe  it  is  dead.  The 
spirit  that  bound  its  countless  cells  into 
one  harmonious  whole  has  loosed  the 
bond;  the  bird's  body — its  immortal  body 
—  is  now  free  to  enter  other  forms  of  life. 
Like  the  cells  of  the  fallen  leaf,  the  cells 
of  the  fallen  bird  dissolve,  —  they  free  the 
elements  which  formed  them;  and  these 
elements,  quite  unchanged  by  their  long 
captivity,  joyously  greet  the  change,  enter 
into  new  and  delightful  combinations,  and 
lo!  our  whilom  bird  is  now  a  lovely  bit 
of  vegetable  life,  — the  same  atoms  of  car- 
bon, hydrogen,  oxygen,  nitrogen,  and  sul- 
phur which  formed  his  protoplasm  being 
happily  united  into  the  new  protoplasm  of 
the  plant.  Every  atom  of  the  pretty  bird's 
body  is  somewhere  in  Nature,  active  as 
ever,  —  helping  the  flowers  to  bloom,  the 
birds  to  sing,  the  bees  to  store  up  honey, 
the  deer  to  run,  and  the  little  mouse  to 
hide. 


154  d  Song  of  Life. 

We  thus  see  that  when  a  body  dies  it 
is  not  destroyed,  it  but  changes  its  form. 
Its  countless  cells,  composed  of  the  ele- 
ments gathered  from  the  air  and  from 
food,  are  now  about  to  give  up  those  ele- 
ments, but  not  the  smallest  atom  can  be 
lost.  Each  one  will  be  but  freed  to  seek 
a  new  life  according  to  its  surroundings 
and  its  nature.  The  all-powerful  principle 
of  life  but  rearranges  its  cells  to  express 
life  in  other  ways.  The  spirit,  having 
clothed  itself  in  a  finite  form,  which  for 
a  time  it  wore,  has  at  length  restored  that 
form  to  the  elements  from  which,  cell  by 
cell,  it  called  it  forth.  The  spirit,  no 
longer  needing  the  cell-built  body,  re- 
leases it,  and  the  body  finds  its  place  in 
a  new  form  of  life. 

The  immortal  spirit,  free  from  the  cell- 
built  body,  clothes  itself  in  what  un- 
known glory! 

The  immortal  body,  free  from  the  con- 
trolling spirit  which  held  it  in  a  definite 


The  World's  Cradle.  155 

form,  is  shaped  into  what  forms  of  wonder 
and  beauty! 


"  Full  fathom  five  thy  father  lies ; 
Of  his  bones  are  coral  made; 
Those  are  pearls  that  were  his  eyes 
Nothing  of  him  that  doth  fade 
But  doth  suffer  a  sea -change 
Into  something  rich  and  strange." 


V 


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